After Afterall
by TranquilityCity
Summary: Meredith Grey is the preeminent general surgeon at Georgetown University Hospital, so when the newly inaugurated President is shot, her job is to save him. Derek Shepherd is the first eligible bachelor in the White House since the late 1800s and despite her need for privacy, Meredith can't deny that she's drawn to President Shepherd. Is it worth putting herself out there?
1. Blade

**AN: Happy 2016 everyone! I hope you're all having a great new year. I started writing this story in July (!) but grew stuck and discouraged. I literally just read over the chapters I wrote this morning and decided to go for it. The storyline may not be original (and it does have some whisperings of _Scandal_ ), but I had a good time writing what I have so far and I hope you'll all like it. I do have to say there is some medical jargon, etc. in here and I'm literally just guessing in some places. Please allow me to pre-apologize for anything I butcher. **

**Thank you in advance for any comments, reads, etc. I really appreciate it!**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

 **Scandal _meets_ Grey's Anatomy... _sort of. Meredith Grey is the preeminent general surgeon at Georgetown University Hospital, so when the newly inaugurated President is shot, her job is to save him. Derek Shepherd is the first eligible bachelor in the White House since Cleveland in the late 1800s, a fact no press outlet can go without talking about. Meredith doesn't care about that because she has a job to do. Until one day...she does care._**

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"I, Derek Christopher Shepherd, do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute the office of President of the United States and will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect, and defend the constitution of the United States. So help me God."

The cheers begin in the distant crowd. A low-pitch sound, like a plane taking off ten miles away, moves through the National Mall. The camera stays tight on the newly inaugurated President. He's young, which is all anyone can talk about, but it's the truth. He wears a small, gratifying smile. He has no wife or children at his side—a first in many, many decades.

The Chief Justice of the United States holds out his hand and President Shepherd shakes it. The roar of the crowd is now deafening, but it sounds like the Chief Justus says congratulations and the President thanks him.

I extended my shift just long enough to see the new President sworn in, but now I'm exhausted and ready to be home in my own bed. I've been in the hospital for almost three days straight trying to make sure my residents don't kill their new interns or allow their new interns to kill my patients. I hate this time of year because as an attending, I should just work my shift and go home, but with so many infant doctors running around, a mistake is bound to happen.

As I turn down the hallway towards the attending lounge, I run into Cristina. "I'm going to shock you, but I like these interns."

I glare at her. "Are you mental?"

"Look, they're idiots and fetuses, but none of them back down. They're aggressive like little terrifying land sharks. My stupid resident, Clove—"

"Glover. Not Clove," I remind her for the hundredth time.

Cristina waves her hand in the air. "Whatever. She's an idiot. But she has these feral dog interns who will not take shit from her and it's amazing to watch. I feel a real kinship there. She assigned one to scut and the intern seriously fought her on it."

"That sounds far from amazing. Give me that intern for two seconds and she won't be questioning anything except which way to the nearest bed pan."

"Oh, badass Doctor Grey," Cristina teases.

"You should remember that my interns used to call me medusa."

"Of course. How could I forget? Anyway, I like them. They have spunk and I love watching my residents sweating themselves again. They've gotten too comfortable and complacent. They should be remembering that lives are on the line here."

We round the corner and I can see the attending lounge. I have visions of my own bed. I have visions of a bath and then my bed. Maybe something to eat, a bath, and then my bed. I have nearly twenty-four hours until I have to be back at work.

"I won't disagree with you there." I pause outside the door. "I'm going home because I'm exhausted from my residents trying to handle their idiot interns. Unless the world blows up, don't let anyone bother me. Bailey is here and I know she hasn't operated in a long time, but she'll be fine. Oh and—"

The elevator door opens opposite us with a rush of noise. A uniformed officer runs down the hallway with a walkie-talkie pressed to his mouth. His eyes are wild. He nearly knocks over a nurse, but she ducks out of his way before he accidently slams her down a flight of stairs. "Maniac!" she yells after him.

"Wonder what that's about," Cristina says, clearly interested and looking to follow the police officer.

"I don't know and don't care. I'll see you tomorrow."

Cristina heads after the officer. "See you."

The lounge is empty for three blissful seconds before Alex walks out of the bathroom. "I'd wait a minute before heading in there," he says crassly.

"I'm heading home. I'll use my own bathroom, thank you very much." I pull off my scrub shirt and toss it into my bag. I need to do laundry. That's definitely on the list for tomorrow morning before work.

"Heading home? You're weak Grey. Last year you stayed every day during the grunts' first week."

I kick off my shoes. "Last year I was young and impressionable."

"And now you're old," Alex says.

"Just as old as you are, Karev. I think I wear thirty-four better than you."

"You wish. See you—"

The door opens into Alex; the handle nailing him right in the stomach. He curses. One of the new interns, whom I can't remember the name of, stands in the doorway looking frantic. She's one of Doctor Foley's interns and as far as I've seen, one of the most incompetent. "Doctor Grey, I'm sorry to bother you—"

"Then don't. I'm going home."

"Next time, don't throw the fucking door open like that," Alex grumbles, rubbing his stomach.

The intern nods. "Sorry Doctor Karev."

Alex walks past her. "Good luck Mer. See you tomorrow."

I ignore the intern because to me, the conversation is over. I remove my watch from my wrist and put it in my cubby. I've never been a big fan of watches, but my mom bought it for me when I finished my internship and it has come in handy. I never wear it home, though.

"Doctor Grey?" the intern asks.

With a sigh, I turn to her. "What's your name again?"

"Elizabeth Shaw."

"Doctor Shaw, you are now officially bothering me. I've been here for three days to make sure you people don't kill anyone and now I'm tired. I'm going home. If you need something, go find your resident."

"I would, but Doctor Foley isn't here, ma'am."

"Don't call me ma'am."

Shaw nods. She's small and blond and reminds me of me. I didn't see it at the time, but during my first year, and especially my first few days, I always looked scared. I remember crying a lot that first year. I should give her a break because of this fact, but it makes me want to work her harder. "I'm sorry Doctor Grey, but I'm having trouble with a patient and I don't know what to do."

"I am not on schedule right now, Doctor Shaw. If your resident isn't here, go speak to the resident on-call."

"Doctor Bailey isn't answering my pages."

I sigh and tip my head back. "Doctor Bailey isn't a resident and she isn't who you call."

"I know, but Nurse Tyler said—"

"Fine. Okay? Fine." I pull my scrub top back on. "I'll help you, but I swear to God if the patient isn't dying I'm going to kill you." I tug my shoes on. "Lead the way."

Doctor Shaw walks quickly towards the recovery wing. "My patient, Mr. George, is complaining of abdominal pain, but he won't let me check. He says I'm too young and he wants the older doctor." I glance at her and her eyes go wide. "Not old. Just older. Than me. I mean—"

"Mr. George isn't your patient, Doctor Shaw, he's mine. I operated on him not two hours ago. None of these patients are yours. They're just in your care temporarily. And of course they don't want you touching them, but that's something you should've overcome yesterday. No, the day before. You have to make them feel comfortable and you'll do that with confidence, not by dragging an attending onto the scene."

I expect Shaw to make an excuse, but she says, "Yes Doctor Grey."

We reach Eli George's room and he's doubled over in pain. He's an older patient who had a appendectomy two hours ago. I glance at his chart quickly. "Mr. George, I hear you're in pain." He received morphine right after surgery.

"Oh good, it's you. I can't stand all these kids running around."

I walk to the edge of Eli's bed. I push his shoulders back until he's pressed to the mattress. "What seems to be the problem Mr. George?"

"It's killing me," he groans, pressing his hands over his incision site.

"Will you let me see?"

He removes his hands from his stomach. I lift up his gown and peel back the dressing, which is clear of blood so that's good. I already know what the problem with Mr. George is, but I understand how important bedside manner is, so I play the part. "The incision is clean and is barely enflamed, which is right on track." I press the dressing back in place. "Your incision looks good."

"But it hurts Doctor Grey."

I lift his chart, reading over his previous history. "I understand. And we don't want you in pain. Doctor Shaw, could you please give Mr. George another milligram of morphine. Do you think that'll work, Mr. George?"

The patient nods in three quick successions. "Thank you, doc."

I make a note on his chart. "Of course, Mr. George. I'm just going to have a quick word with Doctor Shaw and then she'll give you the dosage. Okay?"

"Yes, yes," he says breathless.

I nod my head and Doctor Shaw follows me. I hand the chart to the nurse behind the desk. "Mr. George will be getting another milligram of morphine. He will request another in an hour, but he can't have it. Understand?"

The nurse, named Erica, is very good at her job. "I understand."

I turn to Doctor Shaw. "Can you tell me what you read in Mr. George's chart?"

"Um," she starts and thinks. I wait patiently. "He only has one kidney?" she asks.

"Don't ask me. Tell me. What in Mr. George's chart can tell you what just happened?" Doctor Shaw says nothing and still looks to be thinking hard. "What do you know when a patient tells you they need more pain medication when they've already had a proper dose?"

"That they're in pain?"

"Stop asking me. Tell me."

"The patient is in pain." She sounds almost confident.

I nod, "Yes, but that's not what's happening here. What did you see in Mr. George's chart?"

"He has one kidney. He's diabetic. He's a addict."

"Exactly."

"He's a addict? What does that have to do with it?"

I open the chart to his medical history. There are rows and rows of pain complaints and medicine administered. "He's been to every hospital and clinic in the area complaining of pain. He came here two days ago and we ran tests and found out his appendix was about to burst. But he didn't actually feel that pain because he was going through withdrawal. He's a pill popper. The morphine we gave him, which was the correct dosage for his height and weight, isn't enough, which is why he's complaining."

"So he's not actually in pain."

I shake my head. "No, he is, just not from his surgery. His pain is real, very real. So you're going to go in there and give him another milligram, but as you heard me tell the nurse, you will not give him more until the correct time. He will ask and beg and probably try to go over your head, but you will not give him more."

"What happens when he goes over my head?"

"You give the chart to whoever shows up. They'll understand."

"That's it?" she asks.

"That's it. Now, I'm going home. If you have any other problems, page Doctor Yang." That'll show Cristina how idiotic these interns are. I begin walking down the hallway, but pause for a second. "And Doctor Shaw?" I ask over my shoulder.

"Yes?"

"You're a doctor. A surgeon. Start acting like one."

"Yes Doctor Grey," she says and then ducks into Mr. George's room.

I can already feel my bed beneath me. I can taste fresh pizza from the place down the street. I can feel the warmth of my bath. Over twenty hours to myself. I'll sleep eight of them and then have twelve to do nothing. Heaven. Incredible. I'm growing tired as I walk down the hallway. Five minutes until I'm in my car and another fifteen until I'm home.

Chief Webber walks out of the attending lounge looking both ways. He doubles back when he sees me. "Meredith." He's breathless.

"Hi Chief. I was just heading home."

"I need you."

"Can it wait? I've—"

"The President has been shot. One bullet is a through-and-through, but the other is lodged. I believe it's between the heart and the stomach, but we won't know until he's here. He's five minutes out."

I hear the words the Chief is saying, but none of them make sense. "President Obama?"

"No, the new President. Shepherd. Come on."

Richard takes me by the elbow and begins to drag me towards the elevator. "I was just watching him on TV. He was fine." If I say the words out loud, they'll make sense. They'll mean Richard isn't pulling me down to the ER because we wants me to operate on the President. Because I think that's what he means. Doctor Bailey is out of commission and my mom is in London. I am the best general surgeon in the hospital right now. Probably on the east coast. "I can't operate on him."

The elevator is moving too quickly. Richard turns to me. "You can and you will."

"Why can't you do it? You're better than me!"

"I just had eye surgery Meredith, you know I can't do it. You're going to be fine. It's a routine GSW to the chest. You've done this surgery a dozen times."

We're just one floor away. "There is nothing routine about a single GSW. You know that. This is the President of the United States. He was just inaugurated twenty minutes ago! I can't do this."

Richard takes me by my shoulders. He seems a million miles taller than me. "You can do this and you will. You're an incredible surgeon. You're your mother's daughter. You have all her talent and Ellis Grey would never shy away from this. You can do this, Meredith."

I feel my hands shaking already. The elevator doors open. "I can do this," I whisper, but it sounds flat.

The ER is nearly empty except for two men in black suits who look very official. Richard grabs me by the elbow and the two of us walk towards the men. "This is Doctor Grey. She'll be operating on President Shepherd when he arrives. What's the ETA?"

"Forty seconds," the older of the two says. He's staring at me. "You look like you're going to be sick," he says. I can tell he's trying to be commanding, but I hear a waver of fear in his voice. He's a secret service agent. I can tell by the suit and the grimace and the earpiece in his left ear.

"I just learned the President has been shot."

His demeanor breaks for a second. He's probably been protecting the President for only thirty minutes, but I can tell he feels responsible. The other agent also looks like he's trying to hold it together. They're strong, brave men who would allow themselves to die to protect the President, but in this moment, they just look like two guys who have seen someone they care for shot before their eyes.

"Can you do this?" The older one asks.

The Chief is right. I'm the only one who can. "Yes," I say and I sound confident.

"Good," he says. "I'm Secret Service Agent Grant, SSA Grant, and this is SSA Toby. We will be in the room with you while you operate."

"Fine, but you don't approach my operating table. If the machines start making noise or I say anything that might make you want to step in, don't. I will have total control in my OR. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Grant says. Toby also says yes.

I turn to the Chief. "I want you in the room, even if you can't operate. And I want Cristina. If it's close to the heart, I'll need her. No gallery and no residents or interns."

"Everything is covered Meredith."

Just then I hear the ambulance sirens and I run out the side door and into the entrance to the ER. It's raining, but it wasn't minutes ago. The universe is officially fucking with me. The ambulance backs in and the doors fly open. I can barely focus on the man on the gurney before the EMT begins. "Thirty-nine year old male with multiple gun shot wounds to the chest. One in the lower right quadrant was a through-and-through. One entered just beneath the ribs. Tests in the field say all organs are in tact. The patient lost consciousness six minutes after being shot, but remains stable. Patient name…" the EMT pauses.

I'm given a minute to take everything in. The President is lying on a gurney with blood seeping through his white shirt. His jacket has been removed and most of his shirt cut away. He has no shoes on, but I have no idea why or why I notice. "Patient name is Derek Shepherd," I say and take charge of the gurney. Richard runs along with me.

"OR two is available and is being prepped. I had Cristina paged and Bailey, because I think you can use all the support possible."

I glance at Richard across the gurney. He nods just once. "You'll be fine."

We all descend on the operating room. The team preps the President while Cristina, Richard, Miranda, and I scrub in. None of us say anything. We stare forward and watch while our Commander and Chief is hooked up to oxygen, anesthesia, and a heart rate monitor. Someone turns on a portable x-ray machine and I see the bullet on the screen. Cristina sees it, too.

"It's nowhere near the heart."

I feel relieved. "I still want you in there."

Cristina dries her hands. "I know." She heads into the OR. Richard gives me one last look and heads in, too.

Bailey dries her hands. She's had a rough go of it lately, losing four patients to a fluke. She was sick and she exposed the patients to a dangerous pneumonia. She hasn't operated in months, but I think most of it has been decided by herself.

"This should be your surgery," I tell her. She's my mentor and has guided me since I was an intern.

Doctor Bailey shakes her head. "I taught you well, Grey. Just don't mess up in there."

I'm the last to enter the operating room. SSA Grant and Toby are standing along with wall with two more agents who look grim. I approach the table. I've never been so nervous in my entire life. I close my eyes for a second and take a deep breath. When I open them, everyone is looking at me. I need to say something. "This man is a patient in this room, not the President. We will all work quickly to save him, but no one in this room will be sloppy. If you see something of concern, tell me, but we won't be making mistakes today. It's a beautiful day to save lives. Let's have some fun."

I look across the room to SSA Grant and he nods. He believes.

"Ten blade."


	2. Says

**AN: If you've read my stories before, I'm sure you know I always say I'm blown away by the comments, and I always mean it, but if possible I mean it even MORE now. I can't believe how many of you wrote to tell me how much you like this story, and after only one chapter! You are all the absolute kindest! I know there's usually a drop after the first chapter, but I hope you continue to read and enjoy. For those of you who have an account, I will be thanking you with a message. For anyone who was a guest, just know I really appreciate you!**

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I pull off my scrub cap and ball it in my hands. I scrub out quickly and leave before anyone can join me in the scrub room. I wall down the hallway and everything feels tilted. The surgery took only two hours, remarkably fast for such dramatic internal damage. I was naïve to think the wound wouldn't be bad, but as soon as I opened him up, I could see the bullet had fragmented. One piece flush against his stomach, another skirting behind his ribs, and a third just floating, which was the hardest to get.

But I did get it. I got all of it.

I need a minute before I face his family, so I walk into an on-call room and shut the door tightly behind me. I take a deep breath and on the exhale, my breath is shaky and weak. I take another breath and I feel myself growing hysterical. With the third breath I begin to cry. I push my scrub cap against my mouth and muffle the sobs. I need to keep it mostly together, but I also need a minute to completely lose my shit.

After that minute, I check myself in the mirror and I look a mess, but good enough to show my face. I take a cleansing breath and head to the waiting room. The Shepherd family has been placed in their own space, a small conference room off the waiting room. SSA Toby stands guard outside the door. He lets me past.

Inside the room are five women, one older and four younger, presumably her daughters. They all have dark hair like the President. All five women stand. They look tired and nervous. "I'm Doctor Grey. I operated on the President."

"Is Derek okay?" The youngest-looking asks.

"Yes, Derek is okay."

All five women burst into laughter and wails of happiness. They all hug me at once. It's hard to hug five people at the same time. I realize for the first time I have no idea what actually happened, how he was shot, when, but I know his family saw it. They've been terrified for nearly three hours.

His mother holds me longer than the other women. "Is he going to be okay? Is there any permanent damage?"

"Not that I can see, but we will be keeping an eye on him. He'll be staying here for a least a few days. I'd like him to stay for at least a week, but I'm not sure the Secret Service will like that." I eye the corner of the room where an agent stands. "The recovery won't be fast and it won't be easy. But he will be fine."

His mother hugs me again. "Thank you Doctor Grey."

"You can call me Meredith."

She nods and holds out her hand, "I'm Carolyn. And these are my daughters Kate, Nancy, Lizzie, and Amelia. We," her voice breaks. "We were there."

"He's going to be okay. You can see him for a minute if you want to. He's in the ICU, so it really can only be a minute, but I'm happy to take you there. And then if you like, I can have some on-call rooms set aside and you can sleep here. It's comfortable enough."

Carolyn steps forward. "Yes, I need to see him."

I lead the Shepherd women down the hallway through the quiet ICU. It's the middle of the afternoon, but it feels like the middle of the night. The Secret Service is guarding the floor and there are only a few doctors and nurses walking around. I see Alex at the end of the hall and he shoots me a look. I nod, letting him know I succeeded, and he looks relieved.

Outside the President's room is SSA Grant and another agent. I pause at the door. "The President is still sedated and won't be awake for a few hours at least. He is breathing on his own, but he is hooked up to a heart monitor and other wires. I don't want you to be alarmed."

"We understand. We're all doctors," I believe it's Kate who says this.

"You are?"

Carolyn laughs a little. "I raised five very ambitious children."

"That you did. Well, come on then."

The President's room is one reserved for people of his position: presidents, monarchy, congress people, even our own staff, like the Chief when he had a heart attack a few years ago. The room is dim and all I can hear is the heart monitor. The Shepherd family descends onto the President and I let them lean in and kiss him and whisper to him. I hear Amelia say "I love you."

I wonder where his father is. I know a little about the President. He's a Democrat from Maine and was the Governor for the last two years. He's the youngest president ever and is very pro-gay marriage, women's choice for abortions, and less war, but he's also fiscally responsible and believes in less corporations, more small businesses. He's unmarried and no one thought he'd win the election because of that reason. I read somewhere he won by a landslide. But I don't know much about his personal life.

But the most important facet of the new President is right here in this room. He is loved by his family. If the American people could see this, I think anyone who didn't vote for him would change their mind.

After a minute, I clear my throat. "I'm sorry, but you can't stay any longer. Once he wakes up, you can stay as long as you like."

"When do you think that'll be?" either Lizzie or Nancy asks.

"It's hard to tell, but hopefully the next few hours. I'll be here and I will let you know personally when he wakes, okay?"

Carolyn nods and pats my cheek as she walks past. I'm not used to so many displays of affection. "I am so glad you're his doctor." The daughters all follow and head down the hallway with two agents.

SSA Grant is watching me. "I'm staying in here," I tell him.

"That would go against protocol."

"Then you can stay in here, too, but I promised I'd let them know when he wakes up."

SSA Grant walks further into the room and shuts the door behind him. He stands against it. We seem to have an understanding. I take a seat in the chair in the corner of the room. I think of my bed, and pizza, and a bath and I know I'll be here until my shift tomorrow. I signed up for this, though, and it's the life I'm used to. I make myself as comfortable as possible and keep my eye on the President while he heals.

Two hours later, I'm halfway between sleeping and being fully present in the room when I hear a deep intake of air. I open my eyes and SSA Grant is standing beside the President's bed. "Sir?" he asks.

I stand up and cross the room. The President is staring right at me. I notice how blue his eyes are. "Mr. President, I'm Doctor Meredith Grey. Do you know where you are?"

He swallows once and then again. I grab the cup and pitcher of water next to his bed. I hand him a half-full cup while I adjust his bed so he's more upright. He takes the cup with a shaking hand and has a sip. He takes another sip. "Good, keep drinking water. It'll help."

He glances at SSA Grant and then back at me. "Mr. President, do you know what happened to you today? Do you know where you are?"

"Why are you barraging him with questions?" Grant asks.

"Mr. President, I need you to answer me."

The President clears his throat and then winces. "I'm at the hospital," he says. He doesn't sound as commanding as he did this afternoon. But he's talking which is a great sign. "I don't know which one."

"You're at Georgetown University Hospital. You were shot today. One went right through your side and the other broke into pieces in your abdomen, so I operated to remove the pieces and repair any damage. Baring infection, you shouldn't have any long-term problems. Do you have any questions?"

He narrows his eyes and releases a breath. Breathing looks painful for him and it will be for at least a few days. I think about upping his meds, but I have a suspicion no one will want a completely loopy president.

"Who shot me?" he asks.

I have no answer for him.

SSA Grant looks right at me. "I need you to leave the room, ma'am."

"I need to check on my patient."

"The President has asked a confidential question and I can't have you in the room while I tell him the details of today."

"She can stay," the President says, but it also sounds like "she will pay."

"Sir?" SSA Grant asks.

The President takes a deep breath. "Just tell me, Tom."

I look at Grant. Tom Grant. He doesn't seem so imposing now.

"This information is not to leave this room Doctor Grey. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Mr. President, at eleven-twelve this morning, a man named Dennis Walker opened fire. He was one of ours, Sir. An agent." I try to hide my shock. "He was standing at the edge of the stage and right after you were inaugurated, he removed his Glock from his jacket and shot you twice. We're lucky that he didn't hit anyone else and he didn't get a third shot in. SSA Toby tackled him to the ground and removed the weapon before any more damage could be done. Walker has been arrested by the FBI."

I think of how quiet SSA Toby has been and I wonder if that has to do with the fact that he basically saved the President of the United States.

"No one else was hurt?" the President asks.

"Not a soul, sir."

"Good." He's relieved. He turns back to me. "You said you had more to check?"

"What?"

He half-smiles at me. "You told Tom you had to check on me. Do you have a test I need to take because I'm not a great test taker. Don't tell the American public that. They'd have my head."

I laugh. "I'm guessing the pain meds are working." I check his IV. "Are you in any pain?"

"Some, but it's manageable. How's my family? They must be so worried."

"They are. They've seen you though, while you were still out, and I think that helped. If you're up for it, I know they're all antsy to see you."

The President nods. "Yes, I need to see them."

I make a note in his chart of the time. We'll give him more morphine after he sees his family. He needs to heal and he won't be able to if he's fighting through unnecessary pain. "I'll go get them."

"Excuse me?" the President says and I stop and turn to him. I feel like I should bow or curtsy. "I'm sorry, but what was your name again?"

"Meredith Grey."

He nods. "Thank you, Meredith."

"It was my honor, Mr. President."

"You can call me Derek."

I smile at him after glancing at SSA Grant. I have a feeling I cannot call the President by his first name. "No I can't, but thank you, sir. I'll bring your family."

The ICU is now busier and two nurses sit at their station. They stare at me as I approach and I'm ready for the questions and gossip. But instead, the one named Sarabeth asks, "Is he okay?"

I nod. "He's okay."

"Oh thank God. I voted for him. And not just because he's so handsome."

"I voted for him, too," the other nurse says.

Normally I'd leave the chart, but I think it shouldn't be out in the open so I keep it close. "Do you know where the Shepherd family is?"

"They're eating in the Chief's office."

"Thank you."

I walk down the hallway in a fog, trying to piece the last few hours together. Along the way, people stare. My co-workers, my colleagues, they all look at me like I'm some god and I guess I feel pretty good for saving the President, but I'm also very overwhelmed. I like the President, but I need to return to regular cases. I need to sleep. I need to eat.

Out of nowhere, Cristina is walking with me. She takes the chart from my hands and begins flipping through. "Is it true he has an extra toe?"

I steal the chart back. "No, not that it's your business."

"He's awake then?"

We turn the corner to the catwalk which has the perfect view of the Chief's office. I can see the Shepherd women sitting around eating, smiling, probably being charmed by Richard.

"He's awake."

"How is he?"

"In pain, but he doesn't want to be high. I'm going to let him see him family and then up his dosage. And then I'm going to sleep forever and try to eat something."

Cristina stops so I do, too. "You were amazing today."

It isn't often that Cristina compliments me. "Thank you."

"Have you told your mom?"

"Not yet. I figured I'll tell her later."

Cristina nods. She understands. As much as I don't like to admit it, my mom's approval still means a lot to me. I wish I could just cut, save people, and feel accomplished, but there's nothing like the Ellis Grey stamp of approval to make you feel like a true surgeon. I don't need her to tell me I did a good job, but I like hearing it. Plus, I'm sure she'll be excited to hear about this surgery. If I'm remembering correctly, she's met the President before during a presidential dinner for Obama.

"I'm going to get the family. I'll see you later."

I knock on Richard's door and peek my head in. I am tired and I know I look it, but I force a smile which hopefully makes me look more energetic. "Sorry for interrupting."

Carolyn sees me first. "Is he awake?"

"He is and he's asking for you all." Everyone stands. "He's in pain, but he doesn't want to be in a drug stupor. I think you should visit him for a little while and then we'll up his dosage. He seems like himself, though. He was already making jokes."

"That sounds like Derek," Lizzie or Nancy says.

I step back so the women can pass. Richard looks as tired as I feel. He leans back in his chair. "They're very grateful, you know."

"I know. I got a hundred hugs from them earlier."

Richard nods. "You did good work. Ellis will be happy to hear about it."

I smile. "Thank you, Chief."

The Shepherd women descend on the President and I stand in the corner while they fawn all over him. The President is patient and masks his pain, but after some time I can see he's struggling. He shakes his head at me when I walk closer, a silent plea for just another minute. I step back and he hugs each of his sisters again and holds his mom close. She's crying and I'm sure the President is, too. SSA Grant stands in the corner and keeps his eyes on the ceiling like a gentleman.

The time comes and he needs medicine. I smile at the family. "I'm not kicking you out, but the President needs more medicine and rest. You can stay, if he likes, but we'll need you to be calm and quiet."

"Good luck with this group," the President says to me.

I smile at him and it doesn't feel as forced and I don't feel as tired.

"We'll be on our best behavior," Amelia says.

"We swear," Carolyn agrees.

"Okay then. If you're not, I'm sure SSA Grant will keep you in line." Everyone turns their attention to Grant while I grab a syringe of morphine. The women are ribbing on Grant while I talk quietly to the President. "You're going to feel loopy and probably not remember everything, but you need to rest. I have a feeling you're not going to be very good about that, what having to run a country and everything, but it's the only way you'll get better faster."

The President nods. "I'll be a good patient. I swear." He grins at me.

I push the meds and watch them take effect. I bend the President's arm so the medicine takes faster and it's strangely more intimate than when I had my hands inside his abdomen. "I'm going to leave for the day, but I'll be back tomorrow. I'm leaving you to the Chief, who really is the best surgeon in this hospital."

"I disagree," the President says and I already hear him slurring a bit. "He didn't just save the forty-fifth President of the United States. The POTUS."

"I hate that anagram."

He sighs and tips his head back. "So do I."

I dispose of the syringe. "He's going to be quiet for a while and then he might talk nonsense. You know all of this, sorry. I forgot I'm in a room full of doctors."

"That's okay," Kate, I think, says. "We're happy to hear it from you. It's a reminder for all of us," she looks very pointedly at Amelia who just scowls. From the looks of it, Amelia is probably an intern or a resident. She seems young.

"I'm going home for the rest of the day, but the Chief is here for anything you need."

Amelia looks aghast. "You're leaving? Now?"

"Yes, my shift—"

"But my brother was just shot and almost died. Shouldn't you be monitoring him?"

"Amelia, darling," Carolyn says, "Doctor Grey has done a wonderful job, but she needs to go home. I'm sorry to say it, but it looks like you haven't slept in a few days."

I feel myself blush. I touch my hair which is very, very dirty. I can't remember my last meal. I can't really deny it. "I haven't been home in three days."

Carolyn tsks me. "Go home now. We're in good hands."

"Thank you."

I pause at the door and look back as the Shepherd women settle in around the President's bed. They form a tight circle, almost like a shield around him. I barely know these women, but I have a sneaking suspicion they would've taken a bullet for him.

On my way out, SSA Grant nods to me. "Thank you for saving him."

Maybe that validation is even better than my mother's. I smile. "You're welcome."

I finally change from the scrubs and leave the hospital. I almost stayed, but I need rest just like the President does. Maybe not as much as him. I unlock my car and sink into the seat. I could sleep right here. Instead, I turn the engine on and turn on my Bluetooth. Very clearly I say, "Call Ellis." It's late in London, but my mother never sleeps.

"Meredith, hello, how was your day?" I never had a great relationship with my mother growing up because she was never around. She drove my father away and brought me here to DC. She barely noticed me. But as time has moved on, so have I and we almost have a normal relationship now. Sure, we talk about cutting people up more than most families, but I understand why she was never around. Ellis Grey needed to become Ellis Grey and there were some sacrifices.

I take the turn out of the hospital parking lot. "I had kind of a crazy day."

"Tell me about it," she says.


	3. President

**AN: You are all the best. I have nothing more to say about it, because you're all amazing supportive and sweet! Thank you for the reviews. They make my day! I did promise to respond to them, but then I got busy and had to edit this part. I will be commenting on your reviews soon! Thanks for your patience.**

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I share a house with Alex, which started when we were broke interns, but now that we're making good money we should go out separate ways, but neither of us wants to. I'm used to being around people all day and would prefer to live with someone than be alone at the end of the day. However, today I want to be alone.

When I get home, I don't go right to bed, but I do flop onto the couch and call for a pizza. It's just after five, so going to bed now is stupid anyway. I probably won't leave for the hospital as late tomorrow as I planned, but I only need eight hours of sleep, so being in bed by nine or ten will be fine. For now I turn on the TV. The news is running the story about the President and I realize for the first time I don't know if anyone from the hospital made a comment on his condition.

No sooner do I think that, Richard is on the screen. "I am happy to say that our very talented surgical team, led by general surgery attending, Doctor Meredith Grey, has been able to remove the bullet from the President and he is making a great recovery already. He's currently surrounded by his family and trying to get better quickly so he can start his duties. The President will be staying at Georgetown for a few more days and then he'll be moved to the White House. At this time, the President and his family ask for privacy but thank you all for your well-wishes."

I'm surprised Richard mentioned me by name, but then again it's not too surprising. The surgeon is usually mentioned, but it's never happened to me. I watch the live footage of the shooting and it's more horrible than I could've imagined. I see Toby dive and take out the shooter, Dennis Walker. They show Walker's face a lot and mention that he was recently hired by the Secret Service. His background check showed no reason he might harm the President, so the news casters can only speculate, which I hate, so I change the channel.

Alex shows up right in time for pizza. He pays the delivery man and carries the box into the living room, where I'm half-dead on the couch. "Do you want something to drink?" he asks.

"Wine. Lots of wine."

Alex returns with a wine bottle and a huge glass. I pull myself up to pour a glass. "Did you hear anything about the President before you left?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "No one's saying anything. The only people allowed in the room are you and the Chief. His family is pretty intense. I don't think they've left once."

"They love him."

Alex turns on a football game and puts his feet up on the coffee table. "You know that one intern, Jo?"

I shake my head. "Which one is she?"

"Brunette. Average height. Thin."

"That's all of them."

"The hot one?" he asks.

I shake my head again. "No, but I'm guessing you're going to go for her."

"Definitely not. She has crazy in her eyes like all the other ones. She is hot though. But the point is she's a pain in the ass. She was on my service today and she was trying to take over. Trying to tell me how to do my job."

"Isn't that part of it? They tell us what to do, are usually wrong, and we correct them?"

"Not anymore. I'm an attending. My residents are just throwing these untrained interns at me. I won't put up with it."

I thrust my fist into the air. "Tell it to the man, Alex."

He glares at me. "You're such an asshole."

I shrug and finish off a piece of pizza. I take a deep chug of wine. "What I really am is tired, but if I go to bed now I'll be up at three ready to go."

"So? Knowing you you'll want to head back to the hospital then anyway to check on your President. He's single you know."

"Everyone knows that. That's all they talked about for a year."

Alex takes a second piece of pizza. "Did you vote for him?"

I push myself up from the couch. "I'm not telling you that." I grab my wine and head upstairs. "I'm going to take a bath. Don't eat all the pizza. I'll probably want more later."

"I'm not saving you if you drown in there!"

"That's nice, Alex. You're a real friend."

"If I see you naked I'll never be the same again!" he shouts.

"Now that's the truth," I shout back.

\\\\\

As predicted, I went to bed around seven and it's four in the morning and I'm ready for my day. I take a morning shower and put on clothes, grabbing a banana before I leave the house. I'm used to early mornings and Alex was right last night, I do want to check in on the President. I haven't heard anything so I'm sure he's fine, but if the Chief and I are the only ones allowed to see him, he probably hasn't been checked on in hours. Or Richard is running himself ragged.

The hospital is quiet when I arrive. I change into my scrubs, tie my hair up, and head straight to Richard's office. If I know him at all, he's sleeping on the couch. The office is dark when I arrive, so I knock softly on the door as not to startle him. When I don't hear anything, I crack the door open. "Chief?"

He startles anyway. "What?" He fumbles around for the light. I flip it on and he winces. "Oh, Meredith. What time is it?"

The Chief is still dressed in his clothes from yesterday but I know he has a least three outfits in his closet at any given time. "Just about five. How's the President?"

He sits up and scrubs his hand over his face. "He's good. I assigned him Nurse Kate and she's been taking good care of him. Why are you here so early?"

"Couldn't sleep." It isn't really a lie. "I'm going to go check on the President."

"No, don't. He didn't get to sleep until after midnight and he needs to rest. Wait until eight at least." Richard stands up and folds the blanket he was using in half. "The phone wouldn't stop ringing last night. The President's advisors were already starting in, asking him to make decisions, but I wouldn't allow it. I told them they could go twenty-four hours without anyone noticing. The poor man was just shot."

"You're going to allow him to do work today?" I can hear the tone in my voice.

Richard glances at me over his shoulder before pulling on his shoes. "He's a patient, yes, but he is the Commander and Chief. He can't just not work if he's able to. He'll work from his bed. Nothing stressful. No pressing the nuclear war button."

"I don't think he should be working."

"My hands are tied here, Meredith. But he is lucid, his mind is clear because he won't take much pain medication, he's able to keep down solids, and he's using the bathroom by himself."

I raise my hand. "I really don't need to know that."

"Of course you do. You're his doctor and all counts are very impressive for less than a day since he was shot. But he is in pain, so we need to keep a close eye on him. I've allowed his Chief of Staff to arrive at noon today. If it makes you feel better, you can request to be in the room, but considering the information which might be swapped, they could deny the request."

With a sigh, I resign. "Fine, but I will be in that room."

Richard's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but he really can't be that surprised. I've never rolled over for bureaucrats and I won't start now. "Well then, good luck today."

I spend the first part of my morning checking in on the work the residents and interns did yesterday in my absence. The residents' work is pretty solid, but the interns' is sloppy. I make notes on Post-its for the charts that'll need to be revised and stack them up. After that, I begin checking in on some of my post-ops from the last few days, but that only lasts an hour. The intern shifts change at seven, so I have fresh interns walking down my hallway and no residents available yet. I give a few the assignment of fixing the charts and the rest I walk along with for morning rounds.

At eight, I find myself antsy to check in on the President. I've seen gun shot victims bounce back quickly, but I do expect a slump. Maybe not today, but tomorrow. He'll hit a wall. When that happens it's my job to make sure he doesn't try to recover too quickly.

Outside the President's room waits SSA Grant. "Do you ever sleep?"

"Yes," he says with no follow-up.

"Have you seen the President today?" I ask.

"Not yet, but I believe he's awake."

I knock softly on the door and receive a reply. I open the door slowly and peek around the bathroom and into the room. The President is sitting up in bed. SSA Grant follows me in and shuts the door behind him. "Good morning Mr. President."

The President smiles and I can see why so many people voted for him. "Doctor Grey. You look well-rested."

I pick up his chart. "I am. You look better, too."

He nods. "I feel surprisingly good. Is that normal?"

The chart says he's slept at least seven hours and has been given liquids and basic solids throughout the night. He's on a low-dose of morphine, but even Nurse Kate remarks that he'll probably hit a wall within the next twenty-four hours and his dosage will need to be upped. We've all seen it countless times before. I set the chart down and walk around the bed.

"Yes, that can be normal, but you can expect some backlash soon. When that happens we'll up your medicine for a few days and then lower it again." I check his pulse now that he's no longer connected to the heart rate monitor and it seems strong. Next I check his eyes, which dilate and contract as they should. "Any burning or pain at the incision site?"

"No."

I motion to his shirt. He was wearing a dressing gown yesterday, but now he's in a dark blue tee-shirt, probably brought to him by his family. "I'd like to check the incision."

The President nods and I lift his shirt. It feels so awkward. Here is a man responsible for this country and I'm lifting his shirt. I push the thought away and pull back the dressing. It was recently changed and holds no blood. The incision is red, but not a concerning level. I touch around the area. "Does that hurt?"

"Not hurt, no. It just pulls a bit."

I press the dressing back into place. "That's a good sign." I replace the President's shirt and make a note on his chart. "I've heard a rumor that you expect to do some work today." I look the President right in the eye.

He almost looks sheepish. "Nothing huge, but there are some pressing matters."

I hold his chart against my chest. "I told you yesterday that you need to rest."

"I will be resting. I'll be sitting in this bed, doing some very, very light work."

"I don't believe for a second any work the President needs to do will be light."

"It actually is. We have a state dinner next month and decisions need to be made. It's very dull and usually the work of the President's wife, but I don't have one. Apparently I have to have a first lady, which can be a sibling, but that sounds depressing, doesn't it?"

"Mr. President—"

"You know," he interrupts, "I can make you call me Derek. I can order it. I'm your President."

"Which is why while you're under my hospital roof, I will continue to call you Mr. President. The fact is you are wounded and now is your time to recover." He opens his mouth to respond. I cut him off which is probably against laws or something. "I will allow you a two hour visit with your Chief of Staff but since you're just discussing a dinner, I request to be in the room. If I see you getting worked up at all, I will ask him to leave."

The President smiles at me. He then glances at SSA Grant. "She's scary." Then to me, "You're scary. We should've hired you as president."

"I don't believe I'd want the job. I hear you could get shot."

"And funny!" The President says and raises his arm. He winces in pain.

I point at his wound. "See. Now _that_ is the exact reason I don't want you straining yourself."

He holds his hand over his abdomen. "I blame you for being entertaining. And fine, I agree to your terms. I'm not sure my Chief of Staff will be so willing to agree."

"Funny thing, I don't care what he agrees to. Now, I'm going to give you another dose of morphine to cover the next few hours. I will check in periodically and I will be here at noon for your meeting. If you need anything, have a nurse page me."

The President nods. "Would it be okay if my family visits me until then?"

"Of course. I'll find them and send them your way."

"Thank you Doctor Grey."

I simply nod and leave the room. I find the Shepherd women in the Chief's office again. The media has been swarming, so it's best to keep the entire family out of the public's eye. Carolyn hugs me immediately. I glance at Richard. He smiles at me. I've never received so many hugs in my entire life. "I've just been in to see the President. He's doing well, but I believe it's the calm before the storm."

"What does that mean?" Kate asks. I've finally learned which Shepherd is which.

"It means he feels good. He feels strong. But I don't think it'll last long. I believe he'll hit a wall soon and that'll mean we'll give him more medicine and less chatting time. I know he'll be expected in the White House sooner rather than later, so I need him to have optimal rest the next few days." Richard is nodding in my direction. "I've agreed to him having two hours of work today. He has to set up some dinner or something."

"The state dinner," Amelia says. "He told us about that. Did he mention to you anything having to do with his First Lady?"

Nancy elbows her sister. "Not now Amelia."

"He did, actually. He said one of you will probably be it."

"He's required to have one and since he's not married, he needs to choose someone. He was supposed to announce one of us at the inauguration, but we never made it to that part," Lizzie says.

I know it's not their fault that the President doesn't have a First Lady, but it seems like the last thing any of us should be worrying about is a dinner in a month. It's hard to treat a patient who has so many responsibilities. Who really isn't allowed to just take time off. I thought the surgery would be the hardest part, but the aftermath is harder.

But again, it's not their fault. I smile as politely as I can. "I do understand that your brother is the President, but he's also very hurt right now, so I think we should all focus on getting him well sooner."

"Yes, Doctor Grey is right. At this point the most important job for any of you is to support the President. And so far you've been doing a wonderful job." The Chief always knows exactly what to say. I'm very much sure that's why he's the Chief instead of my mother. She's never been great with people.

"If you'd like to visit with him, he has a few hours before his meeting."

Carolyn is nearly halfway out the door. "Yes, come on girls."

The Shepherd women join the President and leave SSA Grant to his guarding duties. It's nearly ten and I'm starving so I head to the coffee cart just outside the ICU. The hospital is still buzzing about the President staying in our midst, as if he's on a week-long vacation. I'm given some long stares, as if I'll divulge secrets, but the truth is I don't know much.

At the coffee cart, I order a regular coffee and a croissant. Right on cue, Cristina shows up. If possible, we always meet here every day at ten, but it doesn't often work out. She orders the same as me. "So, how's the VIP?"

I pay for my coffee and hers. "He's okay."

"Tomorrow will be rough." She takes a bite of her croissant as we begin to walk.

"Yes, I've told him that. And his family. I think everyone thinks he's a superhero and is all better, but the recovery is just beginning."

We walk past the OR board. It's a slow day, which I don't dare say out loud. I see Alex on the board for a shunt implant later and Cristina for a bypass in a few hours, but I'm not on the board at all. There isn't a single general surgery scheduled for today which might be a miracle. "It's almost time for solo surgeries," Cristina says after one of the residents pass. "I'm thinking it should go to Glover."

"You just said she was an idiot yesterday."

"She is, so I think it'll help her. I think we should send the worst person is."

"Do you want your patient to die?"

Cristina laughs. "Remember, it'll be _your_ patient. First surgery is always general."

"I forgot about that."

The waiting room chairs are mostly empty as we pass, but then I notice the crowd beneath the TV screen. I see them playing the President's assassination attempt again. Toby charging to take down the shooter, Dennis Walker. Then they show a picture of Walker. He looks upstanding in his military garb. Next is a shot of the President sitting up in a hospital bed. I stop walking. I walk closer to the TV.

"I can't begin to thank the American people for all their support. My staff has been sending me your Tweets all day and I appreciate every single one of your well-wishes."

"You have got to be fucking kidding me," I say and a few people look my way.

Cristina stands beside me. "I take it you didn't approve of this?"

I hand her my half-eaten croissant and the rest of my coffee. "I'm going to kill him myself."

When I make it to the President's room, but SSA Grant and Chief Webber are standing outside the door. I almost barrel into both of them, but the Chief is the one to actually stop me. "Meredith, the American people need to see that he's okay."

I push Richard's arms off me. "He's a patient, Richard. Right now he's a patient first."

"I agree and as a patient, he asked for this. I think the only way we will really get him better is by letting him feel like the President. He had one minute with that feeling before he was shot. Let him do this while he still feels okay."

I take a step back and cross my arms over my chest. "You know this is risky. What is something happens while he's on air?"

"I'm right here for that instance."

"And you think the American people will be okay if they see the President almost die for the second time in twenty-four hours? This is irresponsible, especially for you Chief."

Richard takes a step forward. "Right now, I am your Chief, not your stepfather, so I expect you not to question me. I've made this decision with the President and his team. The response has been good. They're almost done and I think the whole country will breathe easier knowing their Commander-in-Chief isn't dying in a hospital somewhere."

I glance at Grant and I can tell he's listening. He straightens up. "I just don't want anything to happen to him."

"I understand and I know Derek appreciates it."

"Derek?" I ask.

Richard laughs. "He told me he'd arrest me if I kept calling him Mr. President."

"Yeah, that sounds familiar." I glance at SSA Grant and I'm pretty sure he's smiling.

About five minutes later, a camera crew and the Shepherd women leave the hospital room. They all look happy. I walk into the room afterwards with Grant following me. The President looks okay, not in pain or too tired. He does look sheepish though because he knows I wouldn't have given him the go-ahead. I lift his chart and check his vitals from the last hour. His blood pressure remains in the safe level and he hasn't had any complaints.

I am still frustrated. Everyone is looking at me or glancing in my direction, but I only focus on the President. He tries to smile at me. "Am I in trouble?"

"No."

His eyebrows shoot up. "Really?"

"Really. Now how do you feel?"

The President swallows and sits further up in the bed. I notice he struggles a bit on his left side, where he was shot. "I'm actually getting a little tired."

I nod. "That sounds right."

He looks over at SSA Grant. "Can you call the Secretary and let him know today is no good? I think the video message can hold me off for a few days."

I readjust the pillows behind the President's head. I hold my stethoscope back from nailing him in the face. "I think that's a good idea," I say quietly. He looks up at me.

Grant doesn't seem too surprised and leaves to make the call.

For a second, I think about sitting on the edge of the President's bed. I decide against it. "How else do you feel?"

With no one in the room, he lowers his guard. "I'm exhausted. I felt so good when I woke up this morning and then halfway through the broadcast, I just couldn't figure out what words to use. I think my brain was trying to give up on me. I hope no one could tell."

"From what I saw, you seemed healthy."

"I did?"

I nod and grab the chart to record what he's saying. "But I think you need to seriously consider your health for the rest of your stay here. I know you have an important job, but so do I and right now you're my priority." I look right at him. "You will not die on my watch."

The President manages a smile. "I take it you're used to getting your way."

I walk around the side of the bed and begin to lower his headrest. "I always get my way."

His eyes grow heavy while he moves into a resting position. "I really should hire you for any foreign policy meetings. Are you available?"

He seems drugged. I check his chart again and there are two milligrams of morphine signed off by Richard Webber. He knew the President's wall was coming sooner rather than later.

"I'm too busy saving people's lives," I say.

The President sighs. His eyes are closed tight. He looks much younger with his face relaxed. He's not old and doesn't look it, but for months I could see the stress in his face with every interview he gave. Becoming president must not be easy.

I would never tell my friends or family, but I've been tracking Derek Shepherd's road into the White House for a few years now. His name was first brought up halfway through Obama's second stint in the White House. I, like everyone else, never thought he could be appointed president without a wife by his side, but I really wanted to see him try.

And to answer Alex's question: yes, I did vote for Derek Shepherd for President.


	4. Shepherd

**AN: Clearly I'm terrible at responding to your comments, so I'm not going to promise that again. I'm really busy this time of year and I think you'd rather me update than not. Please know I read every review you write and I really appreciate them! As shallow as it sounds, reviews make me want to write more, so keep them coming! I'm just so happy you're all enjoying this story.**

 **Onto the next update...**

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The next thirty-six hours don't go so well for the President. He tries to keep a brave face, but after a while I know he's struggling and the more he struggles, the harder his recovery will be. I know he wants his family around him, but having them in the room means he never rests, so Richard kindly asks them to leave. We also put a ban on all work. The President's advisors aren't happy about it, but the Vice President steps in to make decisions which is the only real solution.

I stay at the hospital two nights in a row which doesn't fly under Alex's radar like I had hoped. He teases me endlessly the morning after the second night. "Did the President request that you stay? Has he passed a law about it?"

I'm no longer well-rested, so my fuse is short. I know Alex is joking, but it doesn't mean I'm not irritated by him. "The man was shot three days ago. I'm being a good physician."

"Or are you his choice for the First Lady?"

I smack the back of his head. "You're an idiot."

Alex just laughs at me. "So testy." My pager goes off. "Is it your boyfriend?"

"Shut the fuck up."

The fact is, it wasn't actually the President. I've had a busy schedule the last two days with five surgeries on the board. One patient, an older man with liver cancer, continues to flat line after a complication in his surgery. I rush to his room in the ICU and he's coding. The nurse begins chest compressions and when I arrive, one of the interns is pressing the paddles to his chest. "Clear," he calls and everyone steps back.

Nothing.

"Another one," the intern instructs and his voice is loud and clear. The nurse recharges the machine. "Clear!"

The heart jolts, but it doesn't start.

"One more." Everyone except the intern looks to me. They're waiting for me to stop it, but on my first day I didn't and my patient came back to life. I simply shake my head to say, "No, I won't stop him." The intern looks at the nurse. "Another charge!" She does as told. The intern yells, "Clear," and shocks the patient.

He's dead.

"Another," the intern says, but his voice isn't so strong.

I walk around the bed and turn off the machine. The room goes quiet except for the flat line signal. "He's gone. You need to call it."

"Just one more," he says. He's a big guy, tall and muscular. He's a jock like Alex once was, but much like Alex he's learning surgery isn't just about being a former college athlete and riding those coattails for seven years.

I shake my head. "He's gone. He was gone when you started."

The intern drops the paddles which crash together and knock into the metal leg of the bed. He walks from the room. I look up at the screen. "Time of death: 8:57." Once the nurse records the time, I leave the room and walk down the hallway in search of the intern. I find him in an on-call room right down the hallway. He wipes away tears as I enter the room.

I walk over to the bed and sit down beside him. "Mr. Willis had a tear in his sutures during surgery, which made it complicated. I repaired the tear, but his liver was so damaged from cancer it was unlikely that he would make it even the night. His death was predestined. There was nothing you could've done." I glance at the interns badge and learn his name is Lewis Carlisle. "You did good work today Doctor Carlisle."

He takes a deep breath. "When does it become normal to just lose people?"

"It never does," I tell him honestly. "I can go weeks without it bothering me or I'll have weeks where every single death feels like a family member. It's the hardest part of the job and you have to find your own way of coping."

"How do you cope?"

I shrug. "I used to have a drink to each patient I lost, but after a particularly bad bus crush with dozens dead, I stopped doing that. I don't know what I do now. I tell my colleagues. I tell my friends. I comfort the family. But the most important thing I do is learn from each patient. I learn which mistakes not to make and hopefully what happened to Mr. Willis will never happen again."

Doctor Carlisle nods and wipes his face clear. "Do we have to tell the family?"

"Yes. I'd like you to come, but you don't have to say anything."

After another minute, we both head into the hallway and to the waiting room. I don't know if I'm any better today about death than I was on my first day, but I have learned that it's the part of the job that is constant. No matter how good you are, lives are lost. But a lot of lives are saved and that's the part that I stay around for.

\\\\\

In the early afternoon I'm sitting in the President's room going through my charts. To be honest it's one of the quietest places in the hospital because nurse checks are rare, but I'm also sticking around because eventually the President will wake from his nap and he might need something. My patients are all being care for by the residents and I don't have another surgery scheduled until tomorrow morning. So I'm charting.

SSA Grant has finally deemed me trustworthy enough to leave me alone in the room with the President. I even saw him taking a break earlier while another agent watched the door.

I get a lot of work done in the first hour. Nurse Kate comes in a little while later to check his vitals. She smiles at me and afterwards brings me the chart. I nod. His vitals are strong and he seems to not be having an adverse affects. The only problem now is the pain which is being managed by medication, but that, too, will end eventually. For now sleeping is the best medicine.

Eventually I finish my charts and I should go grab some lunch, but I stay in my seat. I watch the President for a little while until my eyes grow heavy. I force myself to stay awake which only lasts so long. I end up falling asleep. The only reason I wake up twenty minutes later is because I hear movement in the room. I open my eyes and the President is climbing from his bed.

I jump up and cross the room to help him. He looks at me with wide eyes. "When did you get in here?"

"I was sitting in the corner."

The President glances at the corner chair and then begins to sit up again. I throw his arm over my shoulder and help him stand. He groans once, but then seems okay. I hold him steady with a hand on his chest and another on the middle of his back. His fingers grip my shoulder, but not tightly, not like he might fall. He seems stronger standing and as the seconds tick by, he seems more than capable.

"Thank you," he says. "I'm fine once I'm on my feet, but standing up initially just hurts. I feel like an old man," he says and then laughs a little. It's comforting to hear him laugh.

He walks into the bathroom and shuts the door. It's very awkward being in the room listening to him pee, but I'm lucky that's all that happens. He comes out a minute later and looks much better. The color has returned to his cheeks. "I feel like this might be a logistical nightmare, but is there anywhere I can walk? I think staying in bed all day might kill me."

The main hallways are out of the question, but the tunnels beneath the hospital only have staff roaming around. "I know somewhere but it's really up to your agents."

"So you don't think it's too soon?"

"I'll bring a wheelchair, but no, I don't. Walking might help. But no stairs. And I'm going to wheel you downstairs. No one will see. It's easier to give you room in the tunnels so if you do need a minute, there won't be people around every corner."

Surprisingly, he agrees. "Okay."

"I'll get SSA Grant."

I find Grant outside the door and explain what's happening. He agrees and calls in two other agents. The trickiest part is getting the ICU floor clear to the elevator. We have a VIP elevator, so that's no problem, but the floor is always pretty busy, especially in the afternoon. As I go grab a wheelchair, I check in with the nurse's station. I tell the nurse on-duty what's happening and she offers to keep the floor clear.

When I return, the President sits right down in the wheelchair. SSA Toby holds the door open after checking that the coast is clear. I'm flanked by SSA Grant and SSA Zane, who I just met moments ago. I walk quickly and make it to the elevator without anyone seeing. As soon as we step onto the elevator, I hear people walking around the ICU floor again.

Once in the tunnels, the SSA agents do a sweep and make sure everything's clear. I park the wheelchair next to the wall and the President stands. He uses the wall for support, but it seems easier than just a few minutes ago. He rolls his shoulders back and walks. I push the wheelchair and walk beside him. The agents surround us but keep a respectful distance. For a while we're both quiet. It's hard to imagine what it would've been like if the President had died underneath my knife.

"What are you thinking about?" he asks. He doesn't seem breathless which is a good sign.

I smile to myself. "I was actually thinking about killing you." I swear all the agents tensed at once.

The President laughs. "You already want to kill me? You've only known me three days. For most people it takes longer. Take Walker for instance. He knew me for almost a year before he tried to kill me."

A silence settles over us. I need to know. "Do you know why he tried to kill you?"

I expect the agents to stop him from giving me details, but they don't. I realize later that that's not their job. They're here to protect the President only, not any secrets he might want to share. SSA Grant is different because he's Derek's friend and I'm sure he wants his friend to succeed.

"Dennis Walker is very opposed to my stance on gay marriage, woman's rights, and what I believe has been unfair treatment of the black community for decades now. He believed I was too socialist, so when I started climbing the ladder, he attached himself to my camp. He was vetted and seemed legitimate, but that shows how much you can really know someone."

We turn the corner and walk down one of the few light-filled halls beneath the hospital. The President stops and soaks up some sun. "I never thought I'd be a President who would be nearly assassinated. I want to be a President for the people. A President who is beloved years down the line. When our generation is old, I want them to tell their grandchildren about President Shepherd and how fair and progressive he was. But now all I'll be known for is getting shot."

"That's not true."

"It's my first action in office. You're always remembered by your first action."

"First, that's not true. I don't even remember what a single President did first. I remember the big moments."

We begin walking again. "I believe getting shot is pretty memorable."

"Sure it is, but that's not what people will remember when you leave office. The American people voted for you. From what I read it was the biggest gap in an election since Richard Nixon in the early 1970s. That means something."

The President glances at me, clearly amused. "You know your political history. I wouldn't think you'd have time dealing with politics when you're busy saving lives all day."

"Presidents always discuss the healthcare system and I pay attention." I act blasé, but really I like being informed. And more importantly, I liked watching Derek Shepherd go from Governor of Maine to President in such a short amount of time. I've always been a fan of the little guy getting his day.

"Yeah, that's true. And what do you think about my stance on healthcare?"

"I have no opinion yet. We'll see what you do with these four years."

"Touché."

We reach the end of the hallway and the President pauses. I wonder if it's exhausting having people watching you all the time. Sure, when I'm in surgery I love the crowd, but afterwards my life returns to me. The President might not always be in the public eye, but someone is always watching over him. I don't think I could do it. Especially now. It's hard enough recovering from a bullet wound, but doing so with people watching you all day has to make it even worse.

Despite it all, I am his doctor and if I see him struggling, I have to step in. "Are you okay?"

He nods. "Just taking a breather."

"There's no shame in the wheelchair."

He looks directly at me. He's done it countless times, but I see such passion and determination in his eyes. "I agreed to your terms of using it up and down the elevator, but down here? Down here I'm walking."

I don't question him. "Alright." That is the man I voted for.

We do a few more laps and I can tell he's growing more and more tired, but he doesn't stop. So I discuss mindless topics. I ask him about his sisters. Which he's closest to. A personality trait of each of them. We talk about his mother and how close they grew after his father died. The President attributes his thoughts on gun laws to the moment he witnessed his father being shot for his watch. The conversation grows heavier, so I loop it back to his sisters. But somehow I find myself in a discussion about his First Lady.

The President finally sits down in the wheelchair, but asks to stay in the tunnels for a little while longer. He sighs and rests his chin in his hand. "I had this girlfriend in college who would've made a perfect First Lady. She was highly organized and loved throwing parties for her sorority. She was a psychology major and really had no plans to work. She's exactly the type who would thrive, but I didn't love her, so a year after we graduated, I broke up with her.

"I figured along the way I'd meet someone, but then again I never really thought I'd be President. When my name was mentioned for the ticket, and when I agreed to be the face of the Democratic party, I never once thought I'd get it. This country may be many things, but it's very conservative when it comes to a person's home life. I was expected to be married.

"So now my first order is to pick one of my sisters. Presidents have done it before, but not since Woodrow Wilson in 1914 and even that was a fluke. His wife died and his daughter stepped in. Plus, World War One was happening, so people really didn't care about who the First Lady was. After Michelle Obama, everyone expects some incredible person and I love my sisters, but I really don't see any of them doing it. Plus, they basically have to halt their life for four years."

I'm sitting on a gurney across from the President and his three Secret Service agents stand around, pretending not to be listening. "So don't have a First Lady."

The President laughs but it definitely sounds like mockery. "I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"It goes against the entire history of the Presidential office."

"So?"

"It's like if someone would tell you to operate without washing your hands. It's just a part of the job that you have to have. A First Lady keeps track of all the social engagements. She throws parties. It's an important role to keep up appearances."

"Hire someone to fill the role. You could make it a joke almost. I think the American people don't care nearly as much as you and your team do."

The President nods. "Now that's actually probably true."

I can tell he's further than exhausted, so I call it. We ride the elevator back upstairs and SSA Grant checks the hallway before we walk down. The three agents wait outside the door while I push the wheelchair in and then SSA Grant follows me in, shutting the door behind him. I'm sort of used to him being my shadow now. I give the President my arm so he can stand, but he does it on his own. He lowers himself into the bed and stretches his legs out. I reach down and pull the blankets up, settling them around his chest. The motion feels intimate.

He leans back and sighs. I check his vitals quickly and set a cup of water before him. "You need to drink it," I say. "How's your pain?"

"I'd say a four." I write down six on my chart because I know he always lessens it.

"You're to rest the remainder of the day. Maybe tonight your family can join you again, but until then sleep. I'm going to give you another dose of meds."

"I really don't need them."

I look down at him in the bed and I know he doesn't want them. I understand, but I also know his pain will be the one thing to hold him back. For some reason though, I bend. "Fine, I'll wait, but in an hour, if you're still in pain, you're getting medicine. Deal?" I hold out my hand.

The President smirks and slides his palm against mine. We shake on it. "Deal."

\\\\\

After a relatively quiet afternoon, I check in on the President right before dinner and he's sitting up playing card games with his nieces and nephews. He looks much better after a long nap and some morphine. He notices me in the door and he looks me up and down. At first I'm confused, but then I realize I'm wearing my street clothes for the first time: a pair of jeans, boots, and a collared shirt with a lavender sweater over top. He winks at me and I roll my eyes back.

The security is still tight on the President, but more staff is allowed to take care of him, so I'm going home. But first I'm going to have a drink.

I meet Cristina at the bar across the street. She already has a beer in front of her and two shots, one presumably for me. I sit down and order a Stella on tap. I take the shot from her and throw it back. I love the burning of tequila on the way down.

"Bad day?" the bartender asks. He's not our regular.

"No, just long."

"She's not having bad days anymore. She's the surgeon who saved the President and now she lives in his pocket," Cristina says. A lot of the time, Cristina wants to sound flippant and funny, but sometimes I can hear the venom in her voice. It's a problem that she's so damn competitive.

I kick her beneath the bar. "No shit, you're the one who saved him?"

I can't really lie, so I nod. "Yeah, I performed the surgery."

"Well then," he says and lines up two more shots, "you drink for free tonight."

Cristina raises her beer to me and I reluctantly raise mine. "Cheers to that."

The bartender heads down to help other customers and I practically jump down Cristina's throat. "What was that about? Anything having to do with the President is confidential."

She rolls her eyes. "Did I break any of that confidentiality? You did operate on him, which the Chief said in his press conference."

"That part is fine, but I don't live in his pocket."

"Please tell me, when was the last time you stayed with one patient for the entire day? Internship? Plus he's perfectly fine. His vitals have been strong for days. By now you should've moved on."

I take my second shot. "One, he's a special case. He's the President of the United States, so I'm not just going to open up his chest and then leave him. Two, I haven't had many surgeries so what else would I be doing with my time? And three, he's not bad company."

Cristina points at me. "There it is."

"There what is?"

She just smirks and drinks her shot. "You'll see."

I hate her cryptic tone, but I really just want to be done with this conversation. I take a sip of beer and jump down from my barstool. "Want to play darts?"

Cristina never turns down a competition. "Sure."

While Cristina grabs the darts, I'm thinking about what she said. If I were some girl in a romantic comedy, I would be falling in love with the President. Isn't that how this goes? But honestly the last thing in the world I'd ever want to do is give up my own career to support some guy's. Plus the media attention would be horrible. And I'd have to plan parties. And how would we even date?

The fact that I'm even considering any of it makes me crazy because the fact is I'm not even interested. I like the President. I voted for him, but that's where my feelings end. He's a good guy and will probably make a fine President, but at the end of the day, I have no desire to get at all involved with Derek Shepherd.


	5. Be

**AN: Thank you for the reviews on the last chapter! You're all too sweet. I love reading all your comments, multiple times, and I really appreciate every single one. I have just two things to address because I've seen them mentioned a couple of times: 1) We won't be reading Derek's POV in this story. He's a central character, of course, but this is Meredith's story. You'll definitely see more of that in the future. So for those who really want to know Derek's thoughts, it won't happen. Sorry! 2) I don't have a set day I update because I don't want to give you false hope or have you waiting around all day for me. I post when I have time. Thank you for your patience!**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

The President is being released five days after he was shot. If I had my way, he'd be staying for two full weeks at least, but the decision makers have vetoed my request. The only upside is the President will have round-the-clock care at the White House and I'll be visiting every day to check on him. I can't deny that I'm excited to visit the White House. The only time I was there was for a tour at age seven.

The Secret Service is already packing the President's things when I arrive in the morning. The President still isn't able to move around easily, but his spirits are up which is half the battle. He's sitting up in bed wearing a fresh button-up and dark pants. Most patients leaving the hospital looking like shit, but the President can't.

He smiles at me as I walk into the room. "Doctor Grey. Are you here to give me a hard time about leaving early?"

"Why is that your first question? I haven't given you a hard time at all." The President and SSA Grant share a look. "Fine, I was tough about you not working, but see how much better you are in five days. You wouldn't be doing so well with me."

"Yes, I know that," he says in a tone which is much more serious than I'm used to.

I tuck his chart under my arm. "Are you ready to go home?"

He shakes his head a little. "Home is Maine. I'm moving into the White House today. It all feels very surreal."

"I hadn't thought of that. Have you been into the Oval Office yet?"

I notice anytime we discuss anything except for the President's health, the Secret Service pay more attention to us. Especially when we're discussing anything having to do with the presidency. I looked it up online and the number one job of the Secret Service is to keep the President safe and the second is to keep his secrets. If the President were to tell me anything he shouldn't, the Secret Service isn't allowed to tell anyone. I guess if the President said he was going to kill everyone, then the Secret Service could tell someone.

Either way, they pay more attention as soon as I mention the Oval Office.

"I was in there once when I met with President Obama about his nomination. But it was his office then. I don't know how it'll feel to be my office."

"It'll probably finally feel real." The President looks up at me. "After all the work you did, the campaigning and debates, the election, it'll probably feel finally real. I remember after I got my medical license, nothing felt real until I was standing in the hospital for the first day with the white coat on."

He smiles. "I guess you're right. I still feel like Derek Shepherd."

"You are," I shrug, "except people will now call you Mr. President instead."

"Eventually you will call me Derek," he says.

I shake my head. "No I won't, Mr. President."

There's a knock at the door and everyone looks across the room. All the SSA agents are here and Richard wouldn't knock. Or maybe he would. SSA Grant goes for the door. I realized a few days ago he's the President's head of security, so if anyone is going to diffuse a bomb, it'll be him. He cracks the door open. "Authorized personnel only," he tells whoever is on the other side.

"My name is Ellis Grey. I am the head of the general surgery department."

"Mom?" I ask and everyone looks at me. I walk towards the door. "That's my mom."

SSA Grant stands back and I open the door for my mother. She's been in London for two weeks and wasn't due to arrive home until tomorrow, but apparently she changed her plans. My mom has met two presidents before—Obama and Clinton. Apparently she's trying to collect them like baseball cards. "You're home early," I say.

"Well, I heard we had the President in our hospital. I cut my trip short."

"Doctor Grey," SSA Grant says.

My mom and I both say, "Yes."

"Daughter Doctor Grey," he clarifies, "we need to keep the door shut."

"Oh, right." I wave my mom into the room and shut the door.

Before I can even think about introducing my mom to the President, she's already in the room with her hand out. "Mr. President, so nice to see you again. I don't know if you remember meeting me in New York last year, but I attended the dinner thrown by Bloomberg."

If the President is good at anything, he's great at compartmentalizing his pain. I know he's not up for visitors, but as a good President, he smiles and shakes her hand. "I do remember you. You were sitting between Joanne and Mark. It's good to see you again."

"Congratulations on your new position. I can't say I'm surprised you swept the floor. You're the exact President we need right now. Someone fiscally moderate and socially liberal." My mom is a big schmoozer. I'm embarrassed for her.

The President takes it in stride. "Thank you so much. I hope I live up to your expectations. And might I say, I've been in your daughter's good hands for days," his eyes flit to mine, "and I probably wouldn't be talking to you right now without her."

My mom looks at me and I can see the pride all over her face. "Meredith is a wonderful surgeon. You were left in very capable hands."

"Yes, I've noticed that," the President says and he looks at me again.

All the compliments are making me uncomfortable, so I smile at him nervously.

The SSA has stopped shuffling around and I know they're ready to go. SSA Grant clears his throat. "I'm sorry to interrupt, sir, but we are ready to go."

"Of course," my mom says and takes a step back. "I understand you will have care when you're home and Doctor Grey will be visiting every day?"

The President stands without help. "Yes. I'll be under the watchful eye of many doctors." He smiles, but I know he should be sitting down.

I grab the wheelchair. I know he doesn't want to act like he needs it, so I say, "I'm sorry Mr. President, but it's procedure. But it's the last time, I promise."

He sits down in the wheelchair and I feel his hand wrap around my wrist. I look down at him. "Thank you," he says quietly.

"You're welcome."

The hallway is cleared and I walk toward the elevator with a half-dozen Secret Service agents surrounding me. Really surrounding the President, but it's strange either way. We take the elevator to the tunnels which lead to a more private exit from the hospital. Three heavy-duty black SUVs wait and the driver in the middle car is waiting by the back door. "Mr. President," he says and offers his arm.

"I've got him," I say to the man and walk around to the front of the wheelchair. The President takes my arm and lifts himself. He walks to the car and pulls himself up inside. SSA Grant walks to the other side and gets in and SSA Toby climbs in the front. The other agents fill the other cars. "So I'll see you tomorrow."

The President smiles. "I'm looking forward to it."

"Until then. Derek," I say. I get a good look at his shocked face before I shut the door. I smile to myself and take a step back.

The SUVs drive away.

\\\\\

Every time my mom returns from a trip, I go to her house for dinner. When I was growing up, my mom wasn't much of a mom. We never had home-cooked meals because she was never around, but I understand it now. Being a baby surgeon, especially when she was an intern, is taxing and if you miss even one minute, you can fall behind. I remember resenting her, but that feeling has passed. I admire all the work my mother has accomplished and I'm happy that she never had another child.

The one very good part of my youth was the day my mom married Richard. The whole thing was messy and I only learned in the last ten years that Richard had been married before, but they were in love. I'd never condone cheating and I've never cheated myself, but for some reason I've found it in me to forgive them and try to understand why they chose to cheat on their spouses.

I think the reason I'm able to forgive is because my mom became a mom when Richard came into our lives. She was around me. She was happy for once. Sure, she was still difficult and thought I was crazy to get a medical degree, but she was a mom.

They've now been married for almost thirty years and they're still just as happy as when they first said "I do." Richard was promoted to the Chief of Surgery almost ten years ago and around that time my mom started in on her research. She's still an exquisite surgeon, but she's also a Harper Avery winner two times over and a renowned speaker. She travels to at least a dozen hospitals around the country and world every year to discuss her discoveries.

I arrive at my childhood home and walk past the swing my dad built me when I was little. I don't have a lot of contact with him. He lives in Seattle and is married to a woman named Susan. They have two daughters, Molly and Lexie. I've met them both a few times and they're nice enough, but they're not my family. My dad sent me a letter last year and told me Lexie was now a doctor, too.

The house smells amazing when I arrive. Truth be told, Richard does a lot of the cooking, but my mom isn't half-bad. I still suck. I find them in the kitchen, Richard cooking and my mom drinking from a glass of wine.

"I brought dessert," I announce with a chocolate cake from the best bakery in town.

Richard removes something from the oven and walks over to see in the box. "My favorite," he says and wraps his arm around my shoulder. Even though he's been my father for longer than my real one, I've always called him Richard.

"How was your trip, Mom?"

I pour myself a glass of wine.

"Wonderful. The response at Cambridge was one of the best I've ever had. They had to cut the Q and A short because the group wanted to hear about my new AIDs research. I don't even know how they heard about it. That information is confidential. Luckily I had some of my research with me and a few slides I'd begun working on." My mom can talk about her work for days if you let her and normally I'd stop her, but I let her continue on.

The last five days have been so strange for me. I'm used to big cases and patients that I spend multiple days with, but there's something so surreal about spending that time with the President. I am so lucky that everything turned out okay. I can't imagine what would've happened if he had died on my table. I'd be a pariah. I'd be public enemy number two, right behind the guy that killed the President. But more importantly, I'd feel like a failure.

I read in the newspaper this morning that Dennis Walker is being indicted for attempted assassination of the United States President, using a weapon in a public crowd, and a series of other counts. They speculated that he'll have multiple life sentences and will never be free again. After some digging, the NSA found out that Walker didn't have any signs of wanting to harm anyone, so the assassination attempt is still a shock. I think that's better for the President because if he knew it could be possible, I'm sure he would've felt worse, as would the Secret Service.

I'm busy in my own thoughts, but then I realize my mom is no longer talking. Both her and Richard are staring at me. "What?" I ask.

My mom smiles at me. "I asked how you're feeling after the week you had, but I'm guessing that's my answer."

I laugh it off. "It's pretty surreal."

Richard is plating lasagna which smells amazing. "You grew pretty close to Derek this week."

"No closer than anyone else," I say quickly.

A plate is set before me. "I don't know. He seemed to really feel comfortable around you. Plus his team didn't jump down your throat every time you showed up. I felt like I was being screened each time."

"I think he told them to relax. If I was going to kill him it would've been in the OR."

"Maybe," he agrees.

Dinner continues and the conversation moves away from the President. It's not like I don't want to talk about him, but I know privacy is important, so I'd rather not discuss it. Plus, soon enough I'm going to go back to normal. I'll be a doctor and he'll be the President and I'll just watch him succeed from afar. I don't mind the outcome. I saved a life. It's been a good five days.

\\\\\

When I get home, there's a manila envelope propped in my door. Inside, Alex and Cristina are sitting on the couch watching a surgery tape. "Who are you watching?" I ask and sit down next to Cristina.

"It's mine, actually," Cristina says.

"Which surgery?"

Lately we've been watching our own surgical tapes. My mom swears it helps to watch your own hands performing surgery and so far she's been right. It also helps to watch people on my level completing surgeries, so Alex, Cristina, and I rotate which to watch. Sometimes we throw in April's or Jackson's, although they never really join us. They're too busy being happily married and all that.

I rip my finger through the envelope.

"My whipple from last month." I remember the surgery well. The patient ended up dying. A lot of our surgeries that we watch are patients who have died.

Alex takes a sip of beer. "So the President left today?" he asks.

"He's off to the White House."

"Did you get an autograph?"

I roll my eyes. "I was a little busy saving his life and making sure he didn't overexert himself and rip his stitches."

"When you see him tomorrow, get me an autograph."

"Shh," Cristina says, "this is where she started coding."

I pull out a stack of papers from the envelope. On top is my license photo. I read along the page below. My name, address, previous addresses, my parent's names, my step-parent's names. My medical history is on another sheet (appendectomy in 2010, wisdom teeth in 2003). I read through my college history including all my grades. Everything about me is listed on these pages and it doesn't make any sense.

At the bottom of the pile is a note. The top reads: From the desk of the President of the United States. It reads: "Meredith, When the Secret Service learned you would be my surgeon, they ran a background check on you, which is standard procedure. Anyone who comes in contact with the President, with the exception of the general public, is checked in on. I was given this folder after I woke up from surgery, but I didn't read it. Typically, I'm told, this information would be saved in a file somewhere where any future president, or anyone with access, could read it. That doesn't sit right with me. I'm giving you this folder to do with it what you will. I figured I'll learn the information inside in due time. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow. All my best, Derek."

I read the note twice more while Cristina and Alex talk around me. The line that sticks out is towards the end: "I figured I'll learn the information inside in due time." I read it again. What does that mean?

Cristina nudges me with her foot. "What's that?"

I stuff everything back into the envelope. "Nothing, just some stuff from my mom." I stand up. It's not late, but I'm tired. "I'm heading to bed. See you both tomorrow."

Alex and Cristina say goodnight to me and I head upstairs to my bedroom. I take my personal information and tuck it into a box in my closet where I keep my private information. The note, though, I keep separate and tuck it into my side table drawer. I read it once more again.

I have no idea what to think about the letter. I appreciate it, really. I don't like the idea of my information being stored somewhere and people knowing about my medical history. I understand why the Secret Service had to check into my background, but what I don't understand is the idea that I'll get to know the President better. He's a patient and I will be spending a bit more time with him, but what else can he expect?

I plan to act like none of it matters because it really doesn't. What the President has done for me is nice, but after this next week, any contact will be done. He has a country to run, decisions to make, and healing to do and I have my career to focus on. I've just started excelling and after saving his life, my career will only continue to grow.

I change from my clothes and climb into my bed. I'm thirty-four and I am living with a roommate. I'm unmarried. I'm alone. None of those thoughts have haunted me before, but right now, I feel them weighing on me. I hate that they've grown from a place of thinking about the President. About Derek.

I wonder if he's lonely in that big house tonight. I think I would be.


	6. Faster

**AN: Look how fast I'm updating! I wanted to get this part out to you as soon as possible because you've all been so gracious and wonderful with your reviews. I appreciate every single one, so if you feel inspired, please leave me a little comment!**

 **I have one thing to address and one question for you all. Address: Derek actually will take the POV at some point. Now, I know I said it wouldn't happen, but I started to think of a plot to give him POV and I figured it out! Let's just say it's from the show, but with a bit of role reversal. Oh, and it'll be dramatic. If you think you know what it is, let me know!**

 **Questions: (And I know this is a long AN, sorry!) What do you want to read? I don't mean in this story, but in a different one. Whenever I'm writing one story, I like to have another to think on or begin writing to keep me motivated. I'd love to hear ideas you may have! I'd love to write something for you all, so please send me some of your ideas. I can't promise which I'll use, but I'd love to hear what the community wants to read.**

 **Okay...enough blabbing...**

* * *

I don't really expect to make it past the first gate of the White House because the whole idea that I'd be invited in is preposterous. But when I walk up and show my ID, the guard allows me in. "Just follow the driveway to the second check point," he instructs and I do. The second guard is nicer. I guess the first guard is used to turning people away, but the second guard is friendly and welcoming.

The second guard, whose name badge reads F. Carter, begins chatting me up. "So you're the doctor that saved the President," he says while leaning out his window. I back up subtly because his face is so damn close. He smiles wide. "You're a hero."

"I was just doing my job."

F. Carter shakes his head. "No, you're a true hero. I would've just died if the Vice President had taken the President's spot. Just five days with the guy and we were all miserable."

I read reports last night of the Vice President's five days as acting President and most everyone seems to agree with F. Carter. He acted more like _he'd_ been elected as the Commander-in-Chief and barely made any mention of President Shepherd. Since his release yesterday, the President regained his control and the Vice President now sits comfortably at second tier, where he should be.

Early this morning, the President gave a speech from the Briefing Room. I was happy he waited a day, resting before addressing the nation. He still looked a bit sickly when he took the podium, but I don't think many people could see the pain in his eyes except for me. He walked with purpose and addressed the nation with a smile on his face. "After a tireless effort from the good people at Georgetown University Hospital, and a strict ban on all work during the five days I recovered after my surgery, I am happy to say I am doing very well.

"The medical team, including the Chief of Surgery Richard Webber and my surgeon, Doctor Meredith Grey, took the best of care of me. I am happy to announce I was released and am still under doctors' watchful eyes here in the White House. I believe this incident, and my hospital stay, are going to be the beginning conversations for both gun laws and our medical care system.

"As to my assassin, Dennis Walker," he paused here and I could almost hear the sadness in his voice. "I considered Dennis a trustworthy person and an exemplary agent. Most importantly, I considered him a friend. The pain from the two bullets he shot into my abdomen pale in comparison to the feeling of being duped by a trusted member of my staff. I want to clearly express that I trust the remaining staff I have. Despite Walker's feelings towards my platforms, I do promise to be a good and fair president for those who voted for me and those who did not.

"No man, wielding a gun, his fists, or his words, will rock this administration again. Thank you."

Ever since this morning, the speech has been replayed again and again. It's a good speech from a strong man who will not back down. The people who voted for him can celebrate today for choosing a president who represents exactly what we need: strength, perseverance, and determination.

Eventually F. Carter gets a call on his walkie talkie and he sends me in, telling me where to go. When I reach the door pointed out to me, two Secret Service agents are waiting for me. They give me a brief pat-down and then lead me inside the White House. I then walk through a metal detector and my purse is searched. Afterwards, I'm given a name badge and led down a long corridor by an agent.

The hallways are lined with portraits of all the Presidents and the First Ladies. Paintings of the White House throughout the years warm the hallway. We turn down another hallway which has more modern pictures of the Presidents. I notice the White House is busy with people walking around, talking in pairs, glancing in my direction. I pass people wearing suits and I feel out of place in my jeans.

We walk down another hallway and we pass the Briefing Room; it's quiet now. We make a turn and the agent stops outside a door. "Wait here," he tells me. He disappears behind the door and I stare at a framed blue print on the wall which shows all the rooms of the White House in their original form. I'm standing outside the President's secretary's office. A few minutes later, the agent walks out of the room and nods down the hallway. A door opens ahead of us.

President Shepherd walks into the hallway with SSA Grant beside him. I actually find myself smiling at him, which he returns. He definitely looks better even a day after I've seen him. The agent who walked me from the parking garage leaves and SSA Grant takes a step back. I walk towards the President.

"You look good," I say.

He's wearing a black suit with a red tie. The American flag pin that every president wears is on his right lapel. His hair is moussed perfectly, giving him a look of ease. "I look tired," he says. "Everyone keeps saying so."

"Well, besides a few of us, no one saw you right after. This is a huge improvement."

He smiles wide. "You're right."

"And how are you feeling?" I ask.

The President nods his head to the left and we walk down the hallway to a door, which he holds open for me. "We can talk in here."

I walk into a dark wood-trimmed room with heavy, ornate furniture. The room looks to have been plucked right out of the late 1800s. I can imagine Charles Dickens writing in this room or maybe President Lincoln thinking in this room. It doesn't suit the President at all.

He walks behind a wood-trimmed sofa and takes a seat. He motions to a winged chair across from him. "Have a seat." I drop my bag at my feet and sit down.

"Quite a room you have here."

He laughs. "It's my study. Through there is the Oval Office," he motions to the door over his shoulder. "I was going to meet you in there, but apparently you're not on the approved list. Also, apparently I don't have the capacity to change the approved list."

"You're the President of the United States. You can do what you want."

The President shakes his head. The only really good part of the room is the beautiful view of the Washington Monument. "I actually can't. I've basically been given a list of decisions I'm not allowed to make and places I'm not allowed to go. And places those around me aren't allowed to go. Being President means there are a lot of rules and a lot of people watching you." He points up and I follow his finger to a globe light above us. "Big Brother is always watching."

I lean forward to whisper, "But aren't you Big Brother?"

"Not even close," he whispers back and grins at me. "So you asked how I'm feeling. I'm feeling good. Unfortunately I didn't sleep much last night, but I have been taking it easy."

"Why didn't you sleep much?" I expect him to mention pain.

He opens his arms and looks around him. "This place kept me up. I mean, I slept in the White House last night. Do you know how weird that is?"

I shake my head. "I don't. I imagine it's pretty strange."

"When I arrived yesterday, I met my staff. I have a staff of people to take care of me. If I want a cheeseburger right now, I can have it. If I want authentic Pad Thai, there's a chef for that. I have housekeepers. Someone lays my clothes out in the morning. But besides that, people are working nonstop here. Last night when I couldn't sleep, I went for a walk. There were people still working in the West Wing. Could you imagine walking around in your house and finding people just working for you?" Again I shake my head no. "This is a bizarre life."

When I was a kid, I never imagined being President because it sounded awful to me. But my friends wanted it. I couldn't imagine having the kind of life that people watched and commented on. Taking vacations where you needed people guarding you and briefing you every morning on what terrors happened the night before. I much prefer my practically unknown life save for my name passing the lips of those in the medical community.

"But there has to be something good about being here," I say.

The President nods and then thinks for a minute. "It's all good," he admits. "I don't much like people caring for me, but the rest of it?" A slow smile slides across his face. "Finding that man working last night made me excited. I have four years to make a difference and maybe eight if I'm lucky. I can make real change here and that's exactly what I've wanted for almost twenty years now."

"You're so passionate about your job."

"As are you," he says, turning the tables. I shrug the comment away, but he persists. "I watched you performing surgery the day before I left."

My gaze snaps to his. "What? How? Who approved that?"

He laughs. "I'm the President. I asked your Chief and he said yes. I watched you and you were incredible. So graceful. You were patient and commanding. Everyone around you gauged every one of your moves before making one of their own. Isn't it incredible having that kind of power?"

"You sound like a dictator."

"Not even close. I'm not high on the power; I just appreciate it."

I concede, "When you put it that way, then yes. It's pretty amazing. But I still can't believe you watched my surgery."

"Me neither because it was disgusting."

It's my turn to laugh. "A hazard of the job. I'm sure your job will come with many hazards."

"Yes, one of them is being shot." He presses his hand to his bullet wound.

"Have you had any pain?" I ask, returning to the reason I'm even here.

The President shakes his head. "No much, honestly. I did take one of the pills you prescribed last night and I might take one tonight, but during the day I'm almost too busy to feel pain."

"You told me you were relaxing."

"I am, but there's still a lot of work to be done."

"As long as you're sitting most of the time."

"I am," he says.

"Good."

"You're very bossy." I nod. "I like it," he says.

Immediately I'm thinking of the note the accompanied my file last night. I still haven't quite figured it all out, but I'm not sure if that's the point. I'm not sure if the point is even relevant. The man sitting before me, the very same to have written that note, is the President and he has one duty, which doesn't involve me. My time with him will be limited, which is for the best. He has to focus on making it these four years and hopefully four more. The point of the note was to be a kindness, which has been received.

Even so, I feel the need to acknowledge it. "I know you already told me why, but why did you give me the envelope yesterday?" I'm not sure if someone is listening in, so I keep my question vague.

"The envelope wasn't mine to keep."

"Information is power. What if there was something there you needed to know?"

"If I asked you right now to tell me all your secrets, would you?"

I think about it. It's irrational to say yes, but honestly my secrets are so small. What difference could my secrets actually make? So I say, "Yes."

He nods as if he knew that was what I was going to say. "I trust you. I don't need a bunch of pieces of paper to tell me about you. If it becomes relevant, I'm sure you'll tell me about you."

"Speaking of which," I say and then stop. I don't know if I really want to know the answer to the question I was about to ask. I stop speaking. He watches me. "Never mind."

"You were going to ask what I meant by learning the information in due time."

I nod. "Yes. I wondered."

"I didn't mean anything by it except I'd like to be your friend. Being the President already feels lonely and many of my friends live far away. I like the idea of having someone close. If that's okay with you of course."

"Yes. Yes, that's fine with me."

The President grins and looks genuinely happy. "Well then, now would be a good time to give you an invitation. Sit tight," he says and stands, then walks through the door into the Oval Office. I'm given just a peek of the room, but it's much lighter and brighter than the one I'm sitting in.

As soon as he leaves, I stand and pace the length of the room. Being friends with the President is crazy. It's bizarre and just odd. I never thought about the President having friends before, but it must be impossible. Could you imagine trying to have a conversation with your friend about their work day and half of their stories start with "that's classified"? Honestly, I don't have time for friends either. The whole thing is crazy.

The President walks back into the room and his eyes find me near the window. He walks over and hands me a heavy white envelope. "Open it," he says. I open the flap and find equally beautiful paper. Written on top are the words _The State Dinner_. "My first dinner is in three weeks. As you'll remember, I was expected to plan it while recuperating."

"I take it you asked someone else to plan it?"

He laughs. "My secretary did the planning. She's a mother of four and a grandmother of eight. She knows how to throw a party. Albeit, not a fancy one."

"So why do I have this?"

"I'd like you to come."

I blink at him for at least thirty seconds. "What?"

The President looks out the window and I wonder if he sees the land before him and thinks, _This is all mine._ "You might have been doing your job, but you saved my life and that's not something that I'll ever overlook. The State Dinner is meant to be my introduction to the White House and the Presidency. I was asked to invite those important to me and you are now." He glances at me. "If it helps, I also invited your mother and Richard Webber. I didn't know they were married."

I'm sure my mother was thrilled at the invitation. "For nearly thirty years now."

"And have you always worked at the same hospital as them?"

I nod, "Since day one."

"It must've been very hard for you to build up your credibility then." I look at him. "People probably thought you were brought on because your parents run the place."

"Yeah." I'm surprised that he understands something so big in such a short amount of time.

"I think that's why it's even more impressive by how people treated you in the operating room. I don't know much about your field or the hospital you work for, but I know both are world renowned. You had to work harder than anyone to make your name mean something apart from what your mother and step-father brought ahead of you. I'm not making sense."

"Actually, you're making perfect sense."

The President faces me and leans against the window jam. "It was difficult."

I smile. "Difficult might be an understatement."

"I get it."

"I suppose you do." I remember reading what a battle winning New York was for the President. He was faced by every objection and he had to do it publicly. I couldn't imagine the entire nation watching while my fellow interns chided me for only being accepted into the program because I had surgically royal blood.

"Well, I'd like you to come to the dinner. It's pretty tradition, long gowns, tuxes, the whole deal. And your invitation calls for a date, which I would suggest you bring. It's very awkward going to one of these things without one. I learned that the hard way."

I read over the invitation quickly and do find the place for a plus one. "What about you? Who is your date?"

He grins. "My mother."

"Damn, I was going to ask her."

The President bursts out laughing. "Maybe next time."

"You better believe it."

A knock sounds on the door. I'm surprised we've been left alone for so long. I expected at least SSA Grant to be in the room with us. I also realize that I haven't even checked the President. I was supposed to give him an exam, but I believe our time is up.

He opens the door and three men in suits wait on the other side. "We need you in the Situation Room, sir." They each look over at me.

"Of course." He turns to me without excusing the men. "I'm sorry, but I have to go. Can I put you down for the dinner?"

"Yes, put me down for two."

He smiles. "Alright. SSA Grant will walk you out."

"That's not necessary."

SSA Grant appears in the doorway. "Unfortunately it's protocol," the President says. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yes sir."

For a moment he stares at me and I wonder if the sir isn't sitting well for him. After our conversation, it isn't sitting right with me either. I never get an answer because he leaves with the three men. I gather my things, tucking my invitation into my purse and follow SSA Grant down the hallway. He says nothing, so I don't speak either.

When we reach the door back outside, he opens it for me. "I'm keeping an eye on him," he says but doesn't look at me. "I'll make sure he doesn't work too hard."

"Thank you." I like the idea of being on SSA Grant's side.

"Get home safe," he says and walks away.

As I drive away from the White House, I can't help but feel confused. I didn't even examine the President, but he seems fine. It still feels strange that I'd even be asked to return. Of course I'm the one who demanded to check up on him for at least a week, but I expected it to be on the phone. But then again I remember that the President just admitted he wanted me as a friend. Maybe that's why I'm expected to show up tomorrow. Really, it's all so confusing.

I call Alex as I turn away from the Capitol Building. When he answers I ask, "So how would you like to go to the State Dinner with me?"

I've never heard him say yes to anything faster.


	7. Room

**AN: You're wonderful. You're amazing. You're appreciated! Thank you for the reviews of my last chapter. Nothing makes me happier. Seriously.**

 **Onto the State Dinner...**

* * *

I had expected to work the morning of the State Dinner, maybe even into the afternoon, but as soon as Richard saw me in the morning, he sent me right back home. "Your mother will be there soon and the two of you are going to get your hair done." I was shocked because 1) my mother never gets her hair "done" and 2) my mother never takes time off from working for something so trivial. I had planned to just curl my hair in my own bathroom, but that plan was nixed the second my mother showed up at my front door.

The two of us have been spending our entire day getting made up and my mother keeps telling everyone we're going to the White House. Having spent an entire week at the White House, I have to admit it doesn't sound so fancy.

My mother genuinely seems excited. Back when I was young, she was all about cutting, but as time's gone on, her focus has shifted and it's been about medical politics. She does research and writes books, gives lectures and travels the world. She acts as the face of surgery without actually performing as many. I try to ask her why the shift, but she can never give me an answer. I've stopped asking.

I have to admit, it feels nice not having to work in my mother's shadow any longer. She's still the most brilliant mind in surgery, but her name is no longer on the surgical board. I am the only Grey cutting these days.

Once my hair is done, I hope to maybe head home, but the next stop is our makeup. I can't believe my mother is concerned about my face. Once that's done, we pick up our dresses. This was the one part I sort of agreed on. I couldn't just wear any old dress, so I did pick one out specifically for the event. My mother chose a knee-length dark blue dress that suits her very well. I went black with a floor-length gown with a low neckline and sturdy straps. I love the dress and it glides around me perfectly.

By the time I'm dropped off, it's nearly six and I'm being picked up at seven. Alex is sitting on the couch drinking a beer. He looks over at me and does a double-take. He gives me a long whistle. "Damn Grey, you look hot."

I checked myself before I left the salon and the hairdresser blew my hair out and gave me long, loose curls. I had planned the same sort of look, but it never would have worked this well. The makeup artist has gone heavy on the eyeliner and dark eye shadow so my eyes are smoky. My lips are nude and my cheeks are slightly pink.

Alex, on the other hand, looks schlepy on the couch.

"You know the car comes in an hour."

He nods and takes another pull of beer. "Are you afraid I won't be ready? I was born ready, Grey."

"We'll see about that. I'm going to get dressed."

In actuality, I spend almost forty minutes checking on my patients through an app the hospital implemented a few years ago. I had a surgery scheduled for the morning which was covered by another doctor, so I check in on that patient first. To my relief, the surgery went well. I don't really pay attention to the time, but I receive a call a little while later letting me know my car would arrive in fifteen minutes. I jump up and start actually getting ready.

Alex is waiting by the front door when I walk down the stairs. He looks handsome in a black tux. I take the arm he offers me. "You look beautiful," he says.

"So do you," I reply and we share a smile. Alex is as close to me as a brother. He's been my rock through my internship, residency, fellowship, and now attending position. Cristina has also been my rock, but with us there's a competition that Alex and I have never had.

The car that waits outside for us is a freaking Bentley, which makes Alex nearly die on the spot. He drools over the exterior, talking up the driver who I suspect is actually Secret Service, and then once we're inside, he keeps talking about the leather. _Boys_ , I think.

I don't admit it, but I'm nervous. I know there's a red carpet and an announcer will say our names as we arrive. Then we stop for pictures before stepping in line to greet the President. I have to admit I'm nervous for that, too, because it'll be so public. I'm used to seeing the President without anyone around. Alex doesn't seem nervous at all. He's excited. He had this wild idea that he'll make some multi-millionaire woman fall in love with him. Considering he works all the time and never takes vacation, I don't see why he'd even need that. Plus he makes nearly a million a year as it is.

We pull up to the White House and wait in the taxiing line. An agent walks up to our window and asks for ID, checks the list, and sends us along. This happens three more times and then we're exiting the car. Alex gives me his arm and we walk into the White House.

The line ahead of us is pretty long, so I just fidget the whole time. I hadn't realized the State Dinner wasn't just an introduction for the new President, but actually a way for the President to host another head of state from another country. We're handed a program and I see the British flag beside the American. The President is hosting the Prime Minister of England.

Alex says exactly what I'm thinking, "I wish it had been the Queen."

We finally make it to the front of the line. I have no idea what the announcer will say, but I already see the cameras poised. An attendant motions us on.

"Presenting Doctor Alexander Karev of Georgetown University Hospital, attending of pediatric surgery, and Doctor Meredith Grey, attending of general surgery at Georgetown University Hospital and the doctor who saved the President's life just five short weeks ago."

I blush and the room erupts in cheers. I offer a small smile.

By the time we're out of the room, I'm nearly sweating. "I sound like a chump next to the savior of the President."

"Oh shut up. You're a pediatric surgeon. That'll melt hearts."

"True," Alex agrees.

I can see the President right ahead of us with his mother to his right and his sisters standing in order besides their mother. They all look so similar with their dark hair and blue eyes. The President looks good in his tuxedo with the flag pin on his lapel. I actually haven't seen him in two weeks, so it's a bit of a reunion tonight. I walk down the line ahead of Alex and shake hands with members of the President's cabinet. I meet the Vice President and the Speaker of the House. I also notice SSA Grant standing beside the President. He nods at me.

And then I'm standing in front of him. His smile is so big; I've never seen him look so happy or healthy in person before. "Mr. President," I say and offer my hand. So far he's been shaking hands, so I expect that, but when he steps forward to kiss both of my cheeks, I'm a little thrown off. I don't think I show it, though. I reach up and squeeze his bicep and smile into the kisses. I see the flashbulbs of the cameras and take a respectful step back.

"I am so glad you're here."

"I'm happy to be here," I admit. I shift the attention to Alex. "Mr. President, this is my co-worker and good friend Alex Karev. He's—"

"A pediatric surgeon," the President supplies. He holds out his hand. "So nice to meet you. You're doing fine work at the hospital."

Alex shakes his hand, "Thank you, sir."

"Thank you both for coming tonight. I hope you have a nice time."

And we're done. We head into the main room which is ornate, but finely dressed with white linens, gold-trimmed plates, and the finest crystal I've ever seen. Alex is like a kid in a candy shop. He's over-the-moon excited. "I can't believe I just met the President. How do you hang out with him all the time? Don't you get freaked out by the stuff he knows about you?"

I think about the folder in the box in my closet. I still haven't told anyone about that. "We hardly hang out all the time."

Alex grabs two glasses of champagne from the passing tray and hands me one. Neither of us are much for drinking champagne, but it does feel like the right occasion. "To us," he says.

I tap my glass to his, "Here here," I say and take a sip.

Alex and I mill about for the next thirty minutes. We're greeted by dignitaries and members of the President's cabinet. Eventually the Shepherd family, minus the President, enter the room and find me in the crowd. I'm hugged and thanked and my cheeks are kissed multiple times. Carolyn won't release me, but she's easily charmed by Alex who offers to lead her around the room. I almost feel like we're starring in some bizarre 1800s Austen novel.

The lights are dimmed and then returned to normal, which I take it to mean find your seats. I'm surprised to find Alex and I sitting at the Shepherd's table, which seems a bit too familiar for how long I've known the family. Alex seems thrilled to be sitting among the beautiful Shepherd women. The band strikes up and people begin to stand because the President and the Prime Minister are in the room. We give them a round of applause and both diplomats wave to the crowd.

The crowd settles and dinner arrives along with fantastic wine. I'm happy that I'm amongst people I sort of know because making small talk, like I hear from the tables around me, sounds tedious. I learn more about the Shepherd women: Kate is a psychologist and all her sisters give her shit for it, claiming she's not a "real" doctor; Nancy works as an OBGYN; Lizzie is an ophthalmologist; and Amelia is a surgical resident. She and Alex hit it off quickly and begin discussing surgery.

I spend a lot of time with Carolyn, who despite the loss of her husband due to a bullet and her son nearly dying just five weeks ago also due to gun violence, seems happier than most. She is curious and asks me a lot about my upbringing. I always use the same line when people question how my mother juggled both a successful career and a small child: "My mother did the best she could for both me and her patients. I never felt neglected." Of course it's a lie.

Carolyn sees right through me. "I take it you have a good relationship now?"

I think about pushing the line, but decide against it. "I understand better now."

She nods. "You seem to be a very understanding, patient woman." I take a sip of wine to mull it over. I've never considered myself either of those things. "I know my son is very difficult when he's in pain, but you seemed to have been the perfect person to save him."

"He really saved himself," I say. I'm tired of being the President's savior. "I removed a bullet, but he worked to get better faster. He was determined."

"He always has been," she says and glances across the room at the President. He's laughing with the Prime Minister, but it's as if he feels our eyes on him because he glances our way. "That's how he became President," she says.

"Yes, well, it might be the hardest job in the world. I don't envy him."

"Your job isn't one for someone undetermined."

I nod. "True."

The music strikes up again and the President and Prime Minister stand. The Prime Minister turns to his wife and extends his hand. The President walks to our table and I can't help but notice he's staring at me. I feel my stomach drop. But he reaches out for his mother's hand when he arrives. "Will you dance with me?" he asks.

Carolyn takes his hand. "I'd be honored."

They're both so damn charming.

The couples dance on the large partitioned floor in the middle of the room. With the Prime Minister, you can see the love he has for his wife—it's passionate and carnal—but with the President and his mother, it's loving and sweet. He dips her and she bursts out laughing. The crowd is loving it. Eventually more couples are called to the dance floor. The Shepherd women stand as men, presumably their husbands arrive, and take their hands. Amelia remains sitting beside Alex and I nudge him and then nod to the dance floor. He offers his hand to Amelia and the two head up to dance.

I don't mind being alone at the table, but I do notice some eyes wandering to me. I hope no one asks me to dance.

As the song ends, the President leads his mother back to the table. He smiles at me and holds out his hand. "You look too beautiful tonight to be sitting alone," he winks at me and then says to his mother, "I'm purposing leaving you alone so some older gentleman can sweep you off your feet."

She rolls her eyes. "Never going to happen, sweetheart."

The President still has his hand outstretched and I've yet to take it. He scowls at me. "Are you honestly going to leave me hanging?"

I glance at Carolyn and she smiles at me. I sigh and take the President's hand. He leads me out to the dance floor and I notice a few people glancing our way. I wonder if he's used to the constant attention by now. The band is in the middle of a song, but the President doesn't falter at all. He wraps his arm around my back and offers me his other hand. I cup my hand over his and rest the other on his shoulder. "I'm not a great dancer," I admit.

"I am," he says with a healthy dose of confidence and begins dancing with me in circles.

"Is there a special class you have to attend to get you to Presidential level dancing?"

He laughs and I see flashbulbs going off. There are at least a half-dozen photographers documenting the event. "Yes, it's called I went to private school in Manhattan and learning to waltz was one of the classes."

"Well as someone who has never once waltzed in her life, be gentle."

"You're doing beautifully."

I smile and look away into the crowd, watching as people enjoy a drink and conversation with those around them. It feels like such a strange world I've been plopped into for the evening. The President continues to dance me across the floor and I'm aware of how close we are. Closer than he was with his mother. I'm not pressed up against him or anything, but I am very aware of his tuxedo jacket brushing against the front of my dress.

I take a second to glance up at him, feeling only a little insecure with his face so close to mine. He catches me and smiles. "When you think of me, do you call me Derek or the President in your head?"

After a moment of deliberation, I say, "The President."

"But you called me Derek."

"Only once."

He nods. "You shouldn't think of me as the President."

"Why not? That's who you are."

"Yes," he agrees, "but I don't think of you as the doctor. Or a doctor. You're more than just your profession, aren't you?"

Honestly, I'm not much more than job, but that's the way of a doctor. A surgeon. We live, breathe, and exist on surgery. On cutting. If I weren't a surgeon, I have no idea who I'd be or what my identity would be. And for some reason, I think the President might understand that. "Sure, I'm more than my profession, but I'm also identified as my profession. Like you."

"Doesn't it drive you crazy?" he asks.

"Not at all," I answer honestly. "I've chosen to be identified as my job. I like the identity it's created for me. I find comfort in everyone knowing, as soon as they hear I'm a surgeon, that I'm badass and tough and succeeding in a man's world. Not everyone can say that. There's power in certain professions. Yours especially."

The President nods and swiftly looks around the room. "Everyone is here tonight because I have the power to bring them here. I like that aspect of it. But I didn't choose to become President for the power."

"You didn't choose to become President at all. The public chose you."

"Very true. I guess my apprehension is to thrive and need the power because that scares me. Especially in my position. In yours, you need to have power in your operating room and with your patient's care, but with me, I've been given so much power which could be used for something truly terrible."

I understand what he's saying. "I don't think anyone is worried that you'll misuse your power."

"No?"

"No."

The song ends and we take a step back from each other and clap for the band. The President gives me a little bow. "I would ask you to dance again, but I think I'd get scolded by my various sisters. Let me walk you back to your table." He offers me his arm which I take and then pulls out my chair before asking his sister Kate to dance.

Eventually the speeches begin. The President stands and makes a speech about continuing a strong bond with the countries who support the United States, including England. He commands the room as he speaks, offering insight of the relationship with England and their Prime Minister. The PM seems happy by the speech, laughing and smiling throughout. Alex excuses himself for the bathroom and I look longingly after him because I have to pee, too, but thought you couldn't leave.

During the Prime Minister's speech, the crowd seems to quiet and the energy slips slowly from the room. Alex returns and the PM is still talking, so I take my chance and stand up and leave the room.

In the hallway are Secret Service Agents, one being SSA Toby who I nod to as I pass. He nods in return. I find the bathroom easily, which is mercilessly empty. I take my time peeing and then checking my hair and makeup in the mirror. I wash my hands like a surgeon, spending way too much time counting in my head. Afterwards, I thoroughly dry. I'm trying to make time move quicker so the speeches can be done. A woman walks in a minute later and I use that as my cue to leave. I step out of the bathroom and walk directly into someone.

I look up and the President is smiling at me. "You are exactly who I was looking for." He takes my hand. "Come with me. I want to show you something."

"What is happening?" I ask as he drags me along the hallway. I notice SSA Grant is following us, but he keeps a safe distance. I hold up my dress as we rush past closed doors and down the dark hallways.

Outside a closed door, the President stops, drops my hand, and places it on the door handle. "I was thinking about your first visit here and how we couldn't go into the Oval Office." I stare at the door. "I was told civilians weren't allowed in unless approved, but I decided that's bullshit. I'm the President. I have the power," he says as he leans into me and then snaps back, smirking at me. "So, are you ready?"

"To go into the Oval Office?"

He nods.

I shake my head. "Aren't there cameras? Can't we get caught?"

"Yes and no. The cameras feed to the SSA and they review the tapes. If anything is fishy, they report it. I'm talking plotting against people, warfare that hasn't been discussed with my cabinet, Watergate level stuff. But having you in my office won't be fishy. Come on."

The President opens the door and steps back to let me pass. I've seen plenty of pictures of the Oval Office, but none of them do the space justice. The Office is wide and bright, illuminated by lights on seemingly every surface. The walls are lined in gold wall paper and in the center of the room are two plush gold couches. There are built-in bookshelves lined with books and expensive-looking paintings on the wall. I read this is how the Obama administration decorated the space, but even so, it seems to fit the President.

He shuts the door behind him and walks across the room to stand next to his desk. He looks so comfortable and confident in this room. I wonder if this is how he felt when he saw me operating in the OR. "What do you think?"

I have no idea what to say. I just shake my head.

"It was overwhelming when I was first in here, too."

"It's just…such an important room. It's weird to think of all the great men who have stood in this room."

He buries his hands in his pockets. "Not all of them were great."

"No, I guess they weren't all great. But they were powerful."

"There's that word again."

I walk along the edge of the room and stare up at the paintings before moving to the books, all of which have been written by or about the Presidents before him. I run my fingers along the spines. When I turn, the President is standing a few feet behind me. He smiles softly at me.

"Thank you for bringing me in here."

The President nods. "I didn't like the feeling of keeping this from you."

I feel my brow furrow. "Why not?"

"I know it goes against a lot of contemporary thoughts on secrecy, but I've decided I don't want to keep things from you if I can help it. Now if we're about to bomb Sudan, that I can't tell you—which, by the way, we're not—but the place I work and sit every day, I'd like you to see it."

"Why?"

"Because," he begins and leans back against his desk. "You should see the place I can't stop thinking about you." My eyes widen. He tips his head to the side. "I can't focus sometimes because I'm wondering what you're doing. My VP will ask me something two, three times before I can get my head together. It's irresponsible of me, I know, but I can't help it. I stare at that door," he motions to the one behind me, "where we've spent time together, and I wait and hope for you to show up. The last few weeks have been horrible not seeing you." He stands.

I take a step back. "Wait, Derek…"

"You called me Derek," he says with a grin.

"That's really not the point, is it?" I ask.

He doesn't step closer, thankfully. "No, it's not, but I like hearing it."

"I can't…this isn't a thing," I motion between us. "I'm your doctor."

"I'm not asking anything of you, Meredith. I just wanted you to know."

I try to run my hand through my hair, but remember the ten pounds of hairspray and curse when my fingers get stuck. I think of all the things I haven't said in the last few weeks and I know I shouldn't say them, mostly because we're probably being listened in on, but also because they could make the situation worse. A situation which can't exist. "But you are asking something of me. You're asking, without asking, for a response. It's unfair."

"I'm sorry," he says and seems genuinely sorry.

"I stand in the operating room and I think of you. I walk past the room you recovered in and I think of you. I walk the tunnels and think of you."

He breaks into a smile. "Really?"

"Stop smiling." He does so. "This can't happen. Nothing is going to happen. I'm going to go and you're not going to invite me to another dinner or event." He opens his mouth to speak. "You have a country to run and bullet wounds to heal. You have a First Lady to pick and terrorism. You have plane crashes and police brutality to deal with. And I have people to save. I have surgeries I need to focus on and patient care. I can't allow myself to be distracted."

"And that's what I am? A distraction?"

"Yes."

He takes a step closer and I take one back.

"I'm going," I say and turn to walk away. I don't make it far before the President has my hand in his. He pulls me back a little and walks to stand in my line of sight. I look away from him. "I'm going to give you three seconds to let go of me."

"Just listen to me."

I pull my hand from his and step back. "No. This is so inappropriate."

"What's inappropriate?" he asks. "Nothing has happened here."

"Plenty has happened."

"No it hasn't, but if you're going to be so upset with me, it should be because I actually did something. Because I made a move."

I cross my arms over my chest. "You've already made enough of a move."

He sighs and tips his face to the ceiling. "Nothing that's happened has at all resembled a move. This is a move," he says before erasing the space between us and catching my mouth with his.

Initially I want to push him off because of the agents and the camera and the freaking Oval Office, but as soon as contact happens, I feel my resolve sliding away. I drop my arms to my sides and his chest presses to mine while he kisses me firmly. He pulls away a millimeter before kissing me again, gentler this time. His tongue draws along my bottom lip and presses into my mouth. I open myself to him.

Derek's arms reach out and encircle my waist. I gasp into his mouth as he drags me flush against him. I reach up, tentatively at first, and place one hand on his cheek and the other on his shoulder. I end up wrapping my arm around the back of his neck and running my other hand down his chest. Our tongues battle in my mouth and I'm completely breathless. He groans against my lips.

We walk backwards until my back is pressed to the wall. His hands move down my back, one wrapping completely around my waist and the other moving to my butt. I push my tongue into his mouth and then draw away slowly, tasting his bottom lip and nibbling on it as I go. I look up at him through hooded eyes. He kisses me gently and we both keep our eyes open. His hands skim up my arms and I shiver.

I reach up and touch my swollen mouth. "Oh my god," I whisper and duck under his arm.

"Meredith, wait."

I turn to him and the look in my eyes must freak him out enough to stop in his tracks. "Don't follow me," I say before I rush out of the room.


	8. Goodbye

**AN: Thank you all for the wonderful responses to the last chapter. I know a few of you thought they kissed soon in the story, which is very true, but there's a reason for that. (Admittedly, no one seemed upset that a kiss happened so soon.) I also wanted to let you know that I've changed the direction of the story, so the next few chapters that I already had written need to be tweaked and I need to write some more chapters, so I appreciate your patience. As always, I'm updating as quickly as possible!**

 **Thank you :)**

* * *

When my mom was a senior resident, she began working on a diabetes trial to follow up her Harper Avery winning Grey method. The world of medicine watched her, but my mother was struggling to find her breakthrough. I remember she barely slept, never ate, and rarely came home. I was ten or eleven and every night Richard came home early so I wouldn't be alone. My mother never did find her breakthrough and uncharacteristically quit her research right in the middle.

Just like my mother, I started reading in on her trial when I was a senior resident. I could see her vision, but not the outcome she wanted. I tried to talk to my mother about her trial, but the whole project was dead to her. When I picked her research up where she left it, I decided not to tell her.

On the days I'm not busy with surgery, I focus on the diabetes trial. I've been in and out of the lab for three years, but I find my time is best spent researching. I read as many medical journals as I can find on diabetes and anyone doing diabetes research. I consult back issues from the 1980s and beyond, because I like having a wide range of information. My mother operated the same way and in her notes I found research from as far back as the 1960s.

But despite how seriously I take my research, I can't seem to stop thinking about Derek. It's been three days since the State Dinner, so three days since he kissed me, but it still feels like it happened five seconds ago. I'm trying to be reasonable in reflection, but even when I allow myself to remember how nice the kiss was, I can't shake the thoughts of the after. I don't mean me leaving, but what would be expected if I didn't just leave. And I also don't mean sex. I mean marriage.

I'm not the kind of woman who thinks so far ahead, ever, but you can't just casually date the President of the United States. If I were to date Derek, I'm dating the media and the people and every pair of eyes who watches my every move. I'd be a spectacle and that doesn't sit well for me. The idea keeps me up at night, but to be honest, so does the kiss.

I'm finding it impossible to focus which leads me to reading the same line again and again. So when Cristina walks into the room and begins talking, I can't hear anything she says. I'm looking right at her, watching her lips move, but I think of Derek. Again. Again. I grow frustrated really quickly because I'd like to just be lost in my work or other thoughts, or hell, what Cristina is saying, but I can't make any of it work.

"Mer, are you listening?" she asks.

"Yes," I lie almost too quickly.

Cristina furrows her eyebrows together. "Oh really, so what did I say?"

I try to think up something Cristina might have been bitching about—the interns, Owen, Alex, a patient, Callie—but decide the interns are the most logical. "The interns?"

"No. What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing. I'm fine."

She stares at me. "No, you're all weird and hidey. You've barely been around the last few days. You've been hiding in here, running to surgeries, not coming out for drinks. Alex said you didn't stay home last night, either."

"You're asking Alex about me?"

"No," she says, "but he told me. "Tell me what's going on."

"Nothing."

I start packing up my things, figuring I can find somewhere else to hide, but Cristina puts her hand on top of my notebook and pulls it away. Before I can grab it, she's holding it against her side. "Tell me."

I wonder if the kiss between Derek and I is need-to-know only information. If I tell Cristina, would it be breaching some unwritten rule? Or maybe even written rule. Derek never said anything one way or another, but for some reason I don't believe the President making out with someone in the Oval Office is off-limits information.

But then I decide I don't care and I need to tell someone.

"Derek kissed me."

Cristina's eyes go wide. "He's Derek now?"

"That's so not the point."

Cristina takes a seat across from me. "So the President kissed you."

"Yes."

"And you kissed him back."

I give Cristina a look.

"Was it good?" she asks.

"Cristina."

She shrugs and sets my notebook back on top of my pile. "He looks like he'd be a good kisser. I bet he's a control freak. Every President has to be."

"None of this is helpful right now."

"Fine. So the President kissed you. Big deal."

"It is a big deal. It's a very big deal. I'm his doctor—"

"Well, not anymore," she interrupts. I give her another look. "Okay, not the point."

I sigh and stare up at the ceiling. Everything was much less complicated three days ago. "We were at the State Dinner and he brought me into the Oval Office." Now it's Cristina's turn to give me a look. "He wanted to show it to me. And we're just standing there, talking, and he starts telling me how he can't focus because he's thinking about me. How he has to make decisions, but he can't focus. He then he walks towards me, and I tell him to stop, but he doesn't. And then we're kissing."

Cristina looks thoughtful. "But was it good?"

"Cristina!" Someone shushes me across the room. I drop my voice. "It doesn't matter if it was good or not because it's completely inappropriate and useless. What does kissing me even accomplish?"

"Scratching an itch."

I cross my arms over my chest. "I'm not scratching any of his itches."

She smiles at me. "You're all worked up and aggressive. I've never seen you so hot for someone before."

"I am _not_ hot for him."

"Oh please, every person in this country is hot for him. He's hot. And he makes impassioned speeches after being shot just days before. He's completely eligible and if you say one more time that you aren't hot for him, you're a liar."

"See, that's the problem. The eligible part. He kissed me and had this look on his face like he wants me, but obviously that can't happen."

"Why obviously?"

"Because I can't just casually date the President. I can't figure out if I even want to date him without the world watching. Do you remember how obsessed everyone was with Kate Middleton and Prince William before they got married? That would be me. I'd be the Kate Middleton in this situation. Everyone would be watching me, judging me, expecting me to show up to dinners and brunches, start initiatives to make sure kids eat better in middle school. I'm a surgeon, not a cruise director."

"You are no Kate Middleton," Cristina says.

"That's the point!"

Another shush.

"Okay, calm down. You kissed the President. Derek. You kissed Derek, but that doesn't mean he wants to marry you or have babies with you. It was a kiss. One kiss. Freaking out and being a girl about it is just going to make everything worse."

My pager goes off, which really couldn't have come soon enough because I am freaking out and I need something to distract me. The page reads: 911, ER. "I have to go." I collect my books and notebook into my arms. "Thanks for the pep talk. You made me feel so much better. Seriously. I'm not worried at all."

"Sarcasm doesn't suit you!" Cristina yells after me, only to be shushed again. "Oh shush yourself."

\\\\\

After the day I've had, all I want is a drink. But I can't face Cristina without her wanting to talk about Derek and Alex is on-call. Callie and Arizona are having a thing, so neither of them are up for it, so I head home. I grab the bottle of tequila from the shelf and pour myself a shot, which I down immediately before even taking off my coat or shoes. The alcohol burns on the way down, but sooths my worries.

I kick off my shoes and hang my coat on the rack by the door. I pour out a second drink, this time choosing a real glass, not a shot glass, and adding ice to the mix. I sip slowly while I try to find something to eat. Alex doesn't grocery shop and I don't cook, so most of the time dinner is cereal or a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. We did order pizza last night, so I take out a leftover slice and eat it cold.

Outside it begins raining and all I want is to be in my most comfortable clothes. I head upstairs and pull off my jeans and tee shirt and replace them with a pair of sweatpants, which I believe are actually Alex's, and my Dartmouth tee shirt. I refill my glass and sink down onto the couch in the living room and turn on the news. Of course the first thing I see is a story about the President and his Iran initiative. I change the channel.

It's late and I'm feeling a bit tipsy, so I decide to go to bed. I return my glass to the kitchen on the way, but as soon as I take the first step upstairs, the doorbell rings. The clock reads nearly midnight, so my only thought is Alex lost his keys. Before I open the door, I flip on the light and Derek is standing there with SSA Grant and another agent. I just stand there for a few seconds and stare.

SSA Grant knocks on the window. "Doctor Grey, we really can't be standing out here."

I want to tell them to go away, but I find myself opening the door. "What are you doing here?"

SSA Grant begins to push Derek into my house and follows behind with the other agent on their heels. They shut the door behind them.

"I need to speak with you," Derek says.

"Doctor Grey, is there anyone else in the house?" SSA Grant asks.

"No." I'm not sure who I'm saying no to. Maybe both of them.

SSA Grant looks around. "Are you sure?"

"I mean, I didn't check when I came home, but my roommate is at work."

"Kevil, go check the house."

SSA Kevil leaves the room and heads upstairs first.

The whole time Derek has been staring at me and admittedly, it's been hard to look away from him. SSA Grant looks between the two of us. No one speaks. SSA Kevil walks back downstairs. "Upstairs is clear," he confirms and checks the first floor. "Are there only two ways into the house?" he asks me.

"Yes."

SSA Kevil returns. "All clear."

"Go guard the back door," SSA Grant says. Once Kevil has left the room, Grant says to Derek, "I'll guard the front door. We can't be here for long. And I will remind you, this is highly—"

"Thank you, Grant," Derek interrupts.

We're silent while SSA Grant leaves to stand at the front door. Once the door is shut, I release my frustration. "You can't be here. This is my home. My private space and I didn't invite you. You can't just walk in with your minions and demand to come inside. I didn't say you can stay and I don't want anyone guarding my doors. So I'm asking you very nicely to leave, right now."

Derek looks good in a dark suit and a navy blue tie. I must look like absolute shit to him. "I understand this is an invasion of your space and I'm sorry for that, but I needed to speak to you. Grant demanded we come into the house because the President can't just stand on a doorstep. If someone saw me—"

I raise my hand. "I don't need a lecture. I just need you to go."

"Please, just give me a minute."

I cross my arms over my chest and take a step backwards. "Fine." I motion to the couch behind him. "Sit." I take my own seat in the chair across the room. I figure he'll keep showing up if I don't just let him get it all out.

Derek sits down and it's hard to remember that he's the President and not just some random guy. I think I decide not to remember that part, because if he were just some guy, none of this would be so difficult. I could test the waters, but I can't with the presidency being held over our heads.

He runs his hands over his thighs and I wonder if his palms are sweaty. "I shouldn't be here."

I make a noise between a laugh and disbelief. "I just told you that."

"No, I know you don't think I should be here, but neither does the Secret Service. Coming to your house like this is risky. If someone saw me, if they knew this was your house, you could be thrown to the sharks. The media would be all over you. Making a house call is highly irregular for the President and even if I tried to play the doctor-patient card, it wouldn't be believed."

"Then why are you here?"

"Because you never would've come to my place."

"Your place?" I laugh again. "You mean the freaking White House."

He gives me a sheepish smile. "Yes. The freaking White House. I knew you'd never show and we need to talk."

I shake my head. "I'm tired. I've had a long day and I'm a bit drunk. I can't talk to you right now."

Derek's smile grows. "A bit drunk?"

"Tequila."

He laughs. "I never would've pegged you as a tequila girl."

"Don't peg me. I'm not peggable." As soon as the words leave my mouth, I hear how dirty they sound. I'm sure I'm blushing. "The point is, if you know I don't want to see you, then why are you here?"

Derek leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. "I need to apologize. I had no intention to bare my soul to you in the Oval Office. Honestly, I just wanted to show it to you. The Oval. Share it with you. The only reason I'm here is because of you and I'm so grateful." He pauses and looks around the room. I only now feel embarrassed for him to be seeing my house. "I had planned to never tell you about my feelings. I figured I'd swallow them away and eventually I'd forget or if I didn't see you the feelings would lessen.

"But you were standing there and you looked so beautiful and I couldn't keep it in any longer. I needed you to know. And I'm sorry if that makes you uncomfortable. I'm trying not to make you feel that way, but for some reason I think bursting into your house at midnight might not do well for making you feel comfortable."

"You're right about that."

Derek nods. "I get it. But I just needed you to know that I'm sorry for the way I told you, but I'm not sorry I told you and I'm not sorry I kissed you." I meet his eyes. "I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to date someone and run the country, but I want to try. I want to try with you because if I'm sure of anything, it's the fact that I think we deserve a chance."

"No," I say quickly.

He looks disheartened. "No?"

"No. I'm sorry, but no. Derek, I'm a private person. I'm a person who works hard, all day, and barely has a minute to herself. I'm a person who doesn't want to get dressed up for a fancy dinner or jet-set across the world because the person I'm seeing has to visit Kenya for two weeks or Istanbul or Brussels. I don't want people talking about what I wear or the person I'm dating. I just want to live under the radar."

Derek nods as if he understands. But I can tell he doesn't as soon as he begins talking again. "I understand the prospect of the public and the media is scary, but it doesn't have to be. I could ask that no one bothers you."

"That will never work."

"I'm the President."

"That's exactly the problem here. You're the President. I don't even know if I want to date you," I admit in a moment of passion. I stand. "I barely know you. If we started something, and we wanted to end it, how do you think that'd go? Because I think everyone would freak out. I don't want to be part of something so big when there are too many uncertainties."

Derek stands. "What else do you need to know about me?"

"Everything!"

"I like scotch," he says. "Coffee ice cream. The crossword puzzle on Sunday, which I always cheat on. I see things in black and white, which hopefully will make me a good President, but sometimes it means I don't bend so easily when I'm in a relationship. I'm working on it. I love all my sisters, but I'm closest to Amelia even though she drives me insane. I lost my virginity at sixteen, which now feels very awkward to say right after I mentioned my sisters. I was going to become a doctor. My whole childhood I'd planned to become a doctor. But I got a law degree instead and I fell in love with politics. I decided I wanted to change the United States. I wanted to make it better. I—"

"Stop," I interrupt.

Derek sighs. "I barely know you, too, but I know I want to try."

"So we'll have dates with the Secret Service watching on? Every kiss will be documented and potentially leaked? Newspapers and magazines will catch on and eventually start rating my outfits and how I spend my free time. I can't live like that, Derek."

"Just tell me one thing," he says after a minute of silence. "Are you at all attracted to the idea of you and me being together? Just give me that one inch."

Of course, I want to yell from the rooftops. I've already told him I can't think of much else besides him. I don't know how else to say it, but I know I don't want to say anything more. But he's standing there, so hopeful. "If you weren't," I begin. "If you weren't the President, I would be dating you."

"I want to kiss you," he says.

"It'll just make it harder."

Derek nods. "I know." He advances on me.

I hold up my hand and when he gets close enough, I press it to his chest. "No."

He steps back and for a moment I want to close the gap between us. But it's clear to me that even if he gives me all the answers, even if he promises it'll be okay and we can date in peace, I know he can't keep that promise. I have no interest in being a media spectacle.

"I'm sorry," I tell him.

Derek nods. "Me too. If you change your mind, I'm here." He slides his hands into his pockets and walks backwards. "And I do hope you change your mind."

"I'm not the woman for you. I'm too independent. I'm too set in my ways."

He laughs humorlessly. "Don't try to pretend the reason this won't work is because of you. It's because of my job."

"The problem is it's not just a job; it's who you are."

Derek makes it to the door and stops. He grasps the door handle and sighs. He looks directly into my eyes. "Yes, I am my job, but you are, too. I had hoped you'd see past that."

I can tell he's disappointed. _I'm_ disappointed. "Our jobs are very different, Derek. I'm not a surgeon standing in front of you. I'm just me. You're still the President even when you go to bed at night. After all, you sleep in the White House."

For a second it looks like he's going to respond, but then he doesn't. He pulls the front door open and Kevil comes in through the kitchen. I have no idea how he knows it's time to go, but he walks out first, then Derek, then SSA Grant. Derek doesn't look in my direction, but Grant does. He pauses and I have no idea what he might say, but then he says nothing. He grants me a single nod and then shuts the door behind him. The nod feels like understanding. Or maybe it's a goodbye.


	9. Derek

**AN: I have had some of the nicest comments ever this week. I love hearing from people who have never felt compelled to comment on a story before, but they do on mine. That just warms my heart. I also have to thank everyone who continually comments no matter what. You're rock stars!**

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The ER is buzzing when I finally make it in. A group of interns is running around, nudging each other for hotter cases. I pull on a gown and take a chart from one of their hands. "What do we have?"

The orderly pushing the gurney replies, "Three car pile-up on the freeway. One passenger was pronounced DOA, but the rest from this car are coming in now. We have a sixteen-year-old female presenting with tenderness in the abdomen and heavy bruising. She was conscious in the field, but we lost her three minutes ago. She's been intubated and received three of morphine."

I read over the chart quickly for any information, but only the basics have been written up. "I've got this." I look over my shoulder to the group of interns, "You," I say to one who looks completely lost. She shuffles to my side. "Call x-ray and tell them we're coming. I need to see the extent of her injuries."

"Okay, but—"

"Do it now!" I yell before running along with the gurney towards the elevator.

I never make it to x-ray with my patient. She begins coding in the hallway and we immediately rush her to surgery. I've learned through my years that procedure is important—running the labs, doing the tests—but instinct is even more important. I knew as soon as the patient arrived she was in trouble, but Richard always asks us to run the tests first. Now is not the time for protocol.

As soon as the patient is stable and the OR is prepped, I go in. My nervous intern, whose name is Katelyn Olsen, stands by and watches on. "We have bleeding in the stomach and appendix. What would you suggest we do Doctor Olsen?"

"Um—"

"With confidence, Doctor Olsen. You will not use 'um' in my OR."

I hear her take a breath. I'm hard on her because my superiors were hard on me. It's how she'll learn because if she can't take a few pressing questions, there's no way she'll ever be able to successfully diagnose and save a patient. "We should repair the bleed in her stomach first and then remove the appendix."

"And why not just repair the tear in her appendix?"

I look over at the intern. She's so young, but I can see determination in her eye. "She doesn't need it."

"And?"

"And the recovery time is the same. Might as well remove it so she doesn't have to have a second surgery later in life in case the organ becomes inflamed."

I smile beneath my mask. "Good. I'd like you to come to my right and you'll be taking the appendix out."

Doctor Olsen's eyes go wide. "Me?"

"You." I continue to repair the stomach wall while Doctor Olsen crosses the room and stands to my right. "You know how to do this," I say quietly. "It's a textbook procedure. Take a breath, focus, and begin at the beginning." She looks over at me. I give her a nod. "I'm right here if you need me, but you won't."

\\\\\

I walk down the hallway to talk to the family. I have another patient waiting and I don't have much time, but talking to the family always comes first. The waiting room is full of people and everyone watches me walk in. The nurse points out the girl's grandparents. I tell them the good news and receive long hugs from both of them. Afterwards, the nurse tells me her parents and little brother all died in the accident. I don't have time to grieve for them. I have another patient.

After a few hours, I finally have a minute to breathe. All my non-emergent patients are waiting for surgery, but I still have one more car crash victim to operate on. I'm waiting for an OR to free up, so I grab a coffee during my down time. On the way back, I pass the waiting room. I hear his voice and before I know it, I'm standing and staring at the TV.

Derek stands behind a podium. He looks good—dressed in a dark suit and a white shirt accompanied by a blue tie. He looks confident, composed. He addresses the crowd in front of the Capitol Building. "My fellow Americans, on this day we honor the former heads of state, the Presidents who came before me. When I first decided I wanted to become President of the United States, I didn't know what it would mean. I was a kid, just eight, watching Ronald Regan addressing the crowd. No matter what your stance of his politics, the man could hold a room's attention. I was equally engrossed.

"I'm still not sure I understand what it means to be President, but I do know that the path that's led me to this moment has been paved by some of the greatest men in history. I am honored to sit where Theodore Roosevelt and John F. Kennedy and Lyndon B. Johnson sat before me. Every man who was elected gave something to this country and I am humbled to be among their legacy.

"So on this President's Day, I thank all the people who have ever voted. The greatest right we have as a country is to choose our leader and I'm still trying to figure out why you chose me. Maybe to get shot right away," he says and the crowd laughs. He smiles. "Thank you to you all for your support, but today isn't about me. It's about the men before me. So Happy President's Day to the men who filled positions one through forty-four. I'm happy to be lucky number forty-five." He waves and takes a step back, throwing one more thank you along the way.

"God he's smooth as fuck," Cristina says to my left. Honestly I had no idea she was there, but I'm not surprised. "You got coffee without me?"

I look down at my cup. I hand it to her. "You can have it."

"Really?" she asks and takes a sip. "Hey, I hear you saved that girl whose family died. Is she going to be okay?"

I glance back at the TV. Derek is walking along rows of people and shaking their hands. "Physically, she'll be fine. Emotionally?" I look at Cristina. "I have no idea."

"Tough break."

I watch the TV. "Yeah."

"Okay, what's up with you?"

"What?" I'm distracted.

Cristina steps into my line of sight. I focus on her, but I really want to watch Derek. I figure this is the only relationship we're probably ever going to have, so might as well gawk from afar. Cristina gives me a knowing look. "Oh no you didn't."

I immediately go defensive. "Didn't what?"

She motions to the screen. "You slept with him."

The floor might be quiet, but there are still people in the waiting room and they're now watching us. I grab Cristina's arm and drag her away from the on-lookers. I imagine how much worse it would be if people actually knew about Derek and me. People would always be staring. The idea alone makes me never want to leave me house again.

I drag Cristina into an on-call room. "I can't believe you slept with him," she says.

"I didn't." I shut the door behind us.

"Then why the covert ops?"

I sit down on the bed. "Because, we can't just talk about Derek in public. Even if nothing happened."

"Well, you did kiss him, so _something_ happened." She sits down across from me.

"One kiss, once." I think back to last night. "He did show up at my house last night."

Cristina gives me a knowing smile. "And you're telling me nothing happened?"

I nod. If I were younger, more impressionable, maybe I would've put my guard down, but I can't think of that right now. "Nothing happened. He wanted more, but I asked him to leave. It'd be too much, dating him."

"Look, the way I see it you're better off. He's already distracting you and you're not even in a relationship with the man. Think about actually dating him as he's visiting another country and a bomb drops or something. You'd be a nervous wreck."

"I hate to say it, but it doesn't matter if I'm dating him or not. I'm still going to worry."

Cristina gives me a long look and I understand her look. I'm badass and hardcore, just like Cristina, but I'm also more human than her. She's never thought of letting a man distract her and while neither of us have been running around and dating anyone in the last few years, I actually think about it. It's not like I need someone, but I like the idea of having someone to come home to at the end of the day. To Cristina, it makes me weak, but she rarely says it.

"So you're in this already," she says.

I shrug. "I guess so."

\\\\\

I drive home with Alex and he's quiet along the way. I glance toward him and then revert my eyes back to the road. "Why are you quiet?"

"I lost a patient. She was six."

All the deaths hurt, but Alex's always feel much, much worse. "I'm sorry Alex. Was it a surprise?"

"No. It was inevitable, but I wanted to give her at least a few more years. All she wanted was to be in the double-digits. She talked about it all the time."

"Those are the hardest ones."

He looks out the window. "Yeah."

When we get home, Alex heads into the kitchen to grab a beer and then plops down onto the couch to watch the game. I'm guessing it's hockey or basketball, but I don't really know or honestly care. I give him some space and walk upstairs and into my bedroom. I decide to take a bath and begin running the water. I find some lavender bubble bath in the closet and throw that in there.

I hardly have time to just soak in the tub, so I spend a long time in there. I close my eyes and fully relax. The rest of my week is going to be difficult, and that's not including any accidents or tragedies that pop up. I don't have off for another four days, but I'm so looking to spending that day sleeping. I can feel myself falling asleep now, so I get out of the bath, dry myself off, and slip on a bathrobe.

As I cover my legs in lotion, my cell phone rings and I groan. I cannot go back to the hospital tonight. I need to sleep. The number is unlisted and I think about not picking up, but I do so anyway just in case someone is dying.

"This is Dr. Grey," I say which sounds pretentious and I hate it, but is necessary if there is an emergency.

"Hi," the voice on the other end says.

I stop everything I'm doing.

"You shouldn't be calling me."

"I know."

"I told you last night—"

"I know."

"So why are you calling me?"

He's quiet for a few seconds and then he sighs. "I'm not calling to ask anything of you. I'm calling to hear a familiar voice. Everyone wants something from me, but I don't feel that way from you. I just want to have a normal conversation."

"Derek, we've never had a normal conversation since we met. Why me?"

"Because, even if we can't find a way to date, we can get to know one another. I want to know you."

I sit down on the edge of my bed and consider this. I keep telling Derek we're so different because he is his job and I'm not, but I can't remember the last time I had a conversation that didn't include medicine. I might not be Doctor Grey when I'm buying groceries, but I am still her because I'm thinking about surgery when I pick up an apple or buy a carton of milk. My friends know me and stories from my past, but every conversation we have usually leads back to cutting. Or, as of late, Derek.

He patiently waits on the other end. I could say no and hang up now, but Cristina's comment from before resonates in my mind.

 _So you're in this already._

I'd be lying if I said the thought of talking to Derek isn't appealing. It feels like the pressure is off. That, if possible, we could have a normal conversation.

 _Oh fuck it_ , I think.

"What do you want to know?" I ask and slide back along my bed, propping my shoulders up with pillows.

Derek sounds relaxed. "Did you grow up in DC?"

"No. I'm from Washington originally. Seattle. And then Boston. And then DC."

"Why did you move?"

"My parents split up. My mom got a job at a hospital in Boston and we stayed there until I was fifteen, then she got the job down here."

"What's your mom's official title? I know Richard is the Chief of Surgery, but is she the chief of whatever department she works in?"

I don't talk often about my mom because almost everyone knows her story. People are uncomfortable talking about the bad things. "She's a general surgeon, but she's not the Chief of General Surgery." I pause. "I am, actually."

"Really?" I can tell he's smiling. "Aren't you fancy."

I roll my eyes even though he can't see. "Not in the slightest."

"So how did you push your mom from that role?"

I glance to my nightstand where my mother's three books are stacked up. I don't know why I've never put them on a bookshelf somewhere. I think it has to do with the fact that I can look at those books and remind myself why I'm working so hard.

"I didn't push her from the role," I say as evenly as possible. I don't want to sound vindictive. He's just curious. "My mom doesn't operate any longer. When she stepped down last year, the role was given to a colleague, but that colleague also had to step down, so the role was given to me."

"Why doesn't your mom operate?"

The diagnosis came almost two years ago and it's still impossible to consider. "She focuses on other parts of the industry."

Derek says nothing for a moment, so I jump in. "What about your parents?" I remember that Derek's dad was nowhere to be found the day he was shot. I'm assuming the worst.

He sighs and I know what's coming. "My dad died when I was seventeen."

"What happened?"

"He was shot for his watch. My sister Amelia was there with me when it happened."

"You saw?" I ask.

"Yes. Everything."

"Derek, I'm—"

"It's okay," he interrupts. "You don't have to say anything. It's been a long time. Twenty years. I wish my dad was here because I know he'd be proud. Plus, he's the reason I have my stance on guns at all. I'm just hoping I can make some good come from the bad."

"I'm sure you will. That's why I voted for you."

I can hear his smile again. "You did?"

"Well, it wasn't much a decision. Your competition was a joke."

He laughs. "No comment."

For a minute we're both quiet, but it doesn't feel awkward. I can't hear much on his end except for a beeping noise, which sounds like an alarm clock. I wonder what he hears. Finally, he says, "Being in this house is weird."

I feel myself growing sleepy. "Weird how?"

"It's so big and there are people working at all hours of the night. I'm not supposed to do anything on my own. Someone makes my bed. My dinner arrives at the same time every night and it's always exactly what I want. I take vitamins and someone lays them out for me in my bathroom. I have no idea who, but someone does. I'm lucky they let me tie my own shoes.

"And the thing is, it's incredibly lonely here. Most of the time I'm too busy to notice anything, but I used to be able to go out after work for a drink with friends. I could stop by my mom's place and hang out. But now I have to be here all the time. I've lived alone since the day I left my mom's house, but I never felt alone."

I think back to all the places I've lived, realizing that there's always been people around. "I've never lived alone."

"Never?" he asks.

"Nope."

"Not even now?"

"I have a roommate."

"Why? I'd think on a surgeon's salary you could live alone."

"I could, I just don't want to. I like there being noise in the house. I like knowing that Alex is around if I need him."

"Alex? The one from the State Dinner?"

"Yeah, why?"

He pauses and then says, "No reason."

I grin. "Are you jealous?"

"Only if there's anything to be jealous of. Is there?"

He's majorly fishing. I could tease him, but I decide not to. "No. There's nothing to be jealous of. Alex and I have been good friends since our intern year. He moved in here when he had a flood in his old place and for some reason it just stuck. I've had a lot of roommates, but Alex has been around the longest."

"So you're friends."

"We're friends," I confirm.

"I have no right to be jealous," he says.

"No, you don't. But you are anyway."

"Maybe just a little bit."

I burrow deeper against the pillows and pull the blanket up to my chin. "What are you doing?" he asks.

It seems intimate to admit it. "I'm in bed."

"Really?" he asks and draws out the l's. "What are you wearing?"

"Shut up."

He laughs. "I should let you go to bed. You've probably had a long day."

"I have, but I wasn't running a country."

"True, but I did nothing today. No wars, no big economic shifts. Just an average day."

"Our average days look very different."

"Yes, they really do."

I yawn.

"Okay, I'm going to let you go now. I'll call tomorrow."

That makes me feel more awake. "You will?"

"Unless you don't want me to."

I shrug. "No, it's fine." I try to sound nonchalant.

"Alright then, have a good night."

"You, too, Derek."


	10. Ear

**AN: I am so sorry for a two week wait (I actually didn't realize it had been that long until today)! As I mentioned in a previous AN, this story is actually going in a different direction, more like taking the detour, and for now I'm not putting chapters up that are pre-written, but writing from scratch. Because of that, it might take a little bit longer between chapters, however I don't want it to be another two weeks.**

 **Thank you all for the lovely comments and encouraging words. I'm excited for you to see where this story is going!**

* * *

"What are you doing?" Derek asks.

"I'm making eggs."

He's quiet for a second and then, "You're cooking." He sounds skeptical.

"I'm not _cooking_ , I'm making eggs."

"If you don't realize they're one in the same, I beg you to walk away from the stove right now."

I turn on the burner and place a frying pan on top. "I'm hungry."

"Order food."

"I'm ordering too much take out. It's embarrassing. The pizza boy knows my order. The other day when he dropped off my pizza he said, 'I'll see you in three days,' because he knows I order pizza every three days."

Derek laughs. "Order something else then."

"The only delivery I can get is pizza or Chinese and I hate Chinese."

"Your life is sad."

"Hey, not all of us have a five-star chef ready to wait on us hand and foot."

"True," he says. "I could send him to your house. He'd be happy to make you anything you want. Oh, _or_ I can make delivery places deliver to your house. I'm the President; it's my job."

I scramble the eggs up a little bit more and dump them into the pan. "I think the last thing you should be doing is worrying about the places that deliver to my house. Plus I'm fine. I have eggs."

He sighs. "Eggs do not make a good dinner."

"I'm making toast, too." I glance over at the toaster and see smoke billowing out of it. "Shit!"

I hear Derek laugh right before I drop the phone. I unplug the toaster and pull out two very burnt pieces of toast. I might suck at cooking, but I've never burnt toast so badly before. I throw them into the garbage right before I pick my phone back up. "Soooo, no toast then?"

"I'll eat a banana or something."

"Let me call delivery places."

"No." I flip the eggs and they go all over the pan in a runny, congealed mess.

I hear Derek typing on his computer. "Then let me take you to dinner."

"Definitely not."

He laughs. "Let me bring dinner to you."

My doorbell rings. "Oh, look at that, my eggs are done. Bye!"

"Wait—"

I hang up the phone and head towards the door. My phone rings in the other room, but I ignore it. My mother is standing on the other side of the door. "You don't have to ring the bell," I tell her as I step back, inviting her inside.

She removes her coat. "You're an adult. You don't just walk into an adult's house."

I could fight with her, but I don't. I take her coat and hang it up. I notice the bag she has in her hands. "I'm not being rude, but what are you doing here?"

My mom heads towards the kitchen and I follow. "Richard is working late and I realized the two of us haven't had alone dinner in a while." She stops at the threshold of the kitchen. "What did you burn?" she asks. She glances at the stove. "What are you currently burning?"

"Shit!" I push past her and take the eggs off the stove. I flip them to see the nearly black side of the eggs. I drop them into the garbage with the toast and put the pan in the sink. I turn towards my mom. "So, what's for dinner?"

We sit down to an Italian feast. My mom picked up no less than five meals from our favorite Italian restaurant and I've taken a little bit of everything: eggplant parmesan, manicotti, stuffed shells, lasagna, and zuppa di pesce. I dip some bread into my soup and as soon as I put it in my mouth, my mom asks, "So tell me about your life lately."

My first thoughts go to Derek, which is the last bit of my life I should be sharing with my mother. As I chew, I try to decide what to tell her. Everything is basically the same, but every time I say that, she scoffs. I can't mention my research since it's _technically_ her research and she knows nothing about the fact that I've brought it back from the dead. She knows about my recent surgeries and my friends are the same.

I swallow. "My life is the same."

She wipes her mouth on a napkin. "That can't be. Are you seeing anyone new?"

My mom isn't the type to beg for grandchildren or a son-in-law, but I have noticed through the years she's been more interested in my love life. I think she wants me to find someone that makes me as happy as she is with Richard, but with my career, I haven't found much time to date.

"I'm not seeing anyone."

Her eyebrow raises. "Really?"

My stomach does a little turn. "Why are you so interested?"

She shrugs. "You've just seemed a little distracted lately."

"I'm not."

"Okay," she says.

We continue eating and sipping on glasses of wine. If I'm being honest, I'm happy she came over. We haven't always had the easiest relationship. My mom always had high expectations for me, but she also always assumed I'd fail. When I told her I wanted to me a doctor, she tried to talk me out of it. She almost got to me, too. I spent an entire year in Europe, ignoring her calls about the letters arriving from Dartmouth. I wanted to get away. When I came to my senses, I almost wasn't allowed back, but as soon as Dartmouth gave me the go ahead, I hit the ground running.

I know my mom is proud of me. I know she knows I'm a good surgeon, but sometimes I wonder if she wishes I'd gone into another profession. Especially now that she can't operate. The name Grey isn't associated with her current work anymore, but my current work. I wonder if she feels left behind.

The house phone rings and it scares me because I haven't heard it ring in months.

"Excuse me," I say and walk into the foyer. "Hello?"

"You hung up on me," he sounds amused.

I sigh. "I would ask you how you got this number, but you'll probably tell me it's a secret or something."

"Oh yes, the very secretive phone book."

"My number is listed in a phone book? Do they still even print those?"

"Yes and I've already called four different Grey households, so now you have to talk to me."

"I actually can't. My mom is here."

"Your mom loves me."

"My mom loves your power," I whisper so she doesn't hear.

Derek pauses for a second and then, "Call me later. After she goes."

I think about saying no, but I don't. "Okay."

When I walk back into the kitchen, my mom is putting the leftovers away into Tupperware and stacking them on the counter. "Who was that?" she asks.

I'm pretty sure I'm blushing, but luckily she's not looking. "No one."

"You were whispering." She's definitely looking at me now.

"It was just a friend. So, do you want to watch a movie or something?"

My mom stands there like she did when I was a teenager. She has her brows furrowed and a stern look on her face. I'd be lying it if I said I wasn't intimidated, even twenty years later. "Meredith, we don't keep secrets in this house. It's a boy, isn't it?"

"A boy?" I ask.

"You're going to get pregnant. You're going to get pregnant and not graduate."

 _Graduate?_ I think. And then I realize. "Mom, look at me. I'm not a teenager anymore."

She throws a dish towel into the sink. "You may think you're adult now, but you're not. You have too much work to do and a baby will just ruin everything."

"Mom, I'm not pregnant and I've already graduated. I'm thirty-four. I'm not seventeen anymore."

She really looks at me, stares at me. I almost see the realization come back to her. She presses her hand to her mouth. "I'm sorry," she says.

I cross the room and take her shoulders in my hands. "Are you okay?"

"I-I can't remember how it started."

"It's okay."

She looks away from me. "I have to go."

"Let me drive you," I offer.

My mom shakes her head and steps away from me. "No, I'll be fine. I just need to go."

"Mom," I say as I walk after her. She grabs her coat. "Please let me drive you. The last time—"

She turns quickly as if I slapped her. "I'm fine," she says and the conversation is over. "Thank you for having dinner with me," she says and grabs the door handle. "I'll see you tomorrow." She opens the door and pauses. "Don't tell Richard." And then she's gone.

As the door shuts I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. I press my back to the wall adjacent to the door and close my eyes. It's been a few weeks since she's had an episode. The doctors predict that they'll be more often, but I was doubting them. She seemed to be getting better. And now… I walk into the kitchen and grab my phone. I know he's busy, but I need to talk. He answers after one ring. "Richard, it happened again."

\\\\\

Two days pass without incident. My mom is back to her old self. She's even flying to Australia for a conference. Richard is nervous about her jet-setting off; he nervous that she'll sundown again and forget where she is. But the doctors agree the trip will be fine as long as people are made aware of her condition. My mother isn't keen on the idea, but she agrees to tell a select few—a flight attendant, a hotel worker, and the woman organizing her trip. No one in the medical community, that's her stipulation.

Work has me busy, so I don't have time to worry like Richard and I also don't have time to talk to Derek. He's called the last two nights when I was asleep. In the morning I've sent _I'm sorry_ texts, but we keep missing each other. I decide it's probably for the best.

On Thursday I go out for drinks with Cristina, Alex, and April. Cristina lost a patient, April and Jackson are fighting, and Alex is pissy for some reason, so the vibe sucks. I decide to just drink. A lot.

"You know what is the worst part?" April asks and I wish it were a rhetorical question. "He knew when we got married that I believed in God and he said he didn't care. And now he's on his high horse, telling me I'm crazy for what I believe in."

"You are a little crazy," Alex says and takes a sip of beer.

"More than a little," Cristina says under her breath.

April shoots them both looks. "I am _not_ crazy! Believing is the only reason, the _only_ reason, I can even be a surgeon. He put me here. He gives me the strength to not break down every time I lose a patient." She motions to Cristina.

"This is not a breakdown," Cristina says pointing to herself. "That is a breakdown," she points to April. "And a really shitty sermon. _Please_ spare us. This is not church."

"This is my church," Alex says with a laugh.

I roll my eyes. "You people make me want to drink more."

"Your boyfriend makes you want to drink more," Cristina says with a wink.

"What boyfriend?" April asks.

"One, that makes no sense," I tell Cristina. "Two, he's not my boyfriend. And C, you're an asshole." I stand up and walk to the bar. The bartender is scamming on some girl who doesn't even look old enough to drive, so he doesn't look my way. I sigh and set my empty glass down.

Someone clears their throat beside me. I look over. "Grant?" I ask.

He raises his glass a little. "I'm Tom right now." I look him over and he's wearing plain clothes like a regular person.

"What are you doing here?" I feel like seeing Grant out in public is like seeing an elephant in space or something.

"I have the night off."

The bartender takes my empty glass. "Another tequila?" he asks.

"Yeah and another one for him." I take the empty seat next to Grant.

"Double scotch, single malt."

Grant glances at me. He's a good-looking man. I've noticed it before, but he's always so serious. I guess when you job is to protect the President, you'd have to take your job seriously. But even in a relaxed setting, he isn't relaxed. "Should I not be sitting here?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "It's fine."

The bartender sets down our drinks. Grant reaches for his wallet. "I got it," I say and hand the guy cash. "Keep the change," I say. "Well, it was good seeing you. Weird, but good."

I stand up.

"Why weird?"

I pause. "Because you're a normal person sitting here. I'm used to the suit and the earpiece."

He smiles a little. "I still have the earpiece. It's just smaller." I sit back down. Grant is looking at me and I'm looking back at him, trying to figure him out. "What?" he asks.

"What's your deal?"

"My deal?" he repeats.

"Yeah. How did you end up with the Pres—" I stop short. "With Derek."

He takes a sip of scotch. "We were friend. We are friends, but we were friends in college. He was always the more outgoing of the two of us. I wanted to be in politics, but I knew I didn't have the personality for it. Derek did. So when we graduated and things started moving for him, I tagged along. I got a job working for a law firm, but I was helping Derek at night. Eventually he was Mayor of his town and then Governor. I was invited onboard when his name went on the ticket. He wanted me to be the head of his protection because he trusts me." Grant shrugs. "When he asks you to do something, you do it."

I laugh because of everything Derek's asked of me, I've said no more often than not.

Grant shakes his head. "When he asks _me_ to do something I say yes. You're pretty much the only one to say no. Ever."

"Yeah, well, it's for both our benefit."

"How so?"

I take a sip of my drink. "Do you really want to be talking about this?" I ask incredulously.

"I asked."

If anyone really gets the situation I'm in, it's probably Grant. He sees it from the inside while everyone else is an outsider. He spends more time with Derek than anyone. He was a friend first and an employee later. It makes me wonder if I had met Derek before he was President, if our relationship would be any different.

"I've told him before: I'm a private person. I've seen what this kind of celebrity can do to a person and I have no interest in being raked through the mud by people I don't know. My past…is a little sketchy. I think it could hurt his presidency," I whisper the word, "if people dug up dirt on me."

"Everyone has dirt," Grant says.

"Are you…routing for us?" I ask.

He takes another sip. "I'm routing for him to be happy."

"And he's not right now?"

"No, he is, I think. Getting shot wasn't on the list, but he's glad to have the position and he's glad to be doing good. I don't think that changes the fact the he's interested in you."

"It's called White Knight Syndrome."

Grant furrows his brow. "What?"

"When you fall for someone who saved you. It's called White Knight Syndrome. Psychologists have done a lot of research and found that people easily fall in love with someone who they believe saved their life. I've had a few patients who felt that way and it's always the same. It's flattering, but it doesn't mean whatever this is is real."

Grant motions for the bartender and orders another drink. He's quiet for a few minutes. Even as the words came out of my mouth, I knew they were bullshit. At least for me they're bullshit. Derek really could have White Knight Syndrome, but I know I don't.

"You're smart," he says finally. "But right now, you sound really stupid."

"Woah there, way to kick a girl when she's down."

"You're not down. You're an incredible surgeon and you're privileged. You have this opportunity that you're not even really considering. Look, it's not my job to drag you back to the Oval and present you to him, but it is my job to make sure he's safe and he's been so distracted lately, I don't know how safe he is. I like you Grey, but if you think for a second, that whatever this is is some kind of syndrome, you're delusional." He throws back his entire drink, pays, and stands. "And for the record, he looks forward to calling you every night."

I glance at Grant. "He does?"

"Don't you look forward to his calls?"

He doesn't wait for an answer.

\\\\\

I ring my hands and pace my bedroom, which is ridiculous. We talk almost every night, but the idea of calling Derek makes my stomach turn. The last few weeks of calls have been wonderful. I like getting to know him on a personal level. I like hearing his stories from before he was President Derek Shepherd, back in his college days. I like hearing about his family and having him tease me about my complete inability to cook. It was fun and simple.

But after talking to Grant, none of it seems simple anymore. I never knew the man could open up that much. I know I needed to hear what he had to say, but it doesn't change the fact that it freaks me out that he's saying it at all. Grant has seen so much, so if he says Derek's feelings are more than I think, then he's probably right.

Which is why calling Derek feels impossible.

For one thing, I'm too drunk. After Grant left, I sat back with my friends, who were all on their best behavior, and I drank another three rounds. Alex and I had to take a cab home. He's been passed out on the couch for almost an hour and I've been downing glasses of water, trying to sober up as much as possible.

Derek called on the cab ride home and I ignored the call. I sort of wish I'd picked up because at least I could be sleeping by now. I have an early morning.

But instead I'm pacing and feeling bad because Grant said Derek looks forward to my calls.

I look forward to talking to him.

God, what a mess.

I go pee for the hundredth time and while I'm washing my hands, my phone rings again. It's after midnight, so it must be Derek. I dry my hands and answer the call on the last ring without thinking twice.

"I thought I'd miss you tonight."

"No, I'm here. I was just out."

"Were you drinking because it was a good day or a bad day?"

I sit down on my bed. "Non-descript."

"I count that as a good day."

"Yeah." I pick at the frayed edge of my comforter. I keep meaning to sew it up. "I actually had an interesting time at the bar. I ran into Grant."

"Really? Tom's not one to go to bars."

"He seemed pretty comfortable."

Derek sighs. "Well, we had a pretty bad day, so maybe he needed to take the edge off. I know I do." I hear ice cubes clink and him swallow. "Did you two talk?"

"Some. He told me about how he ended up working for you."

"I like to think of him working _with_ me."

I pull out a thread. "He's a good guy. He cares for you."

Derek pauses. I like these moments when he's quiet because I know he's really thinking. So often conversation is just people talking over one another, but Derek is so thoughtful. He never interrupts me or talks over me. "He cares for you, too," he says.

"I don't know. I don't think he likes me much after tonight."

"Why not? What happened?"

I could tell him, but I don't want to. "Can we talk about it some other time?"

"Sure. Are you sure you're okay?" he asks.

I slide back against my pillows and turn to my side. "I am. But I don't want to talk about me. Talk to me about Maine. I've never been there."

His voice brightens. I know he's talking, but I can't hear the words. My eyes are closed and even though the light is on overhead and I'm still wearing my clothes, I drift asleep with Derek's voice in my ear.


	11. Blush

**AN: Look! It's only been five days since my last update! Isn't this exciting? I got inspired, so I'm putting up another update for you all. It's a little longer than the last few, which I hope you'll enjoy. I'm excited for this one and would love to hear your feedback! Enjoy!**

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I pull on my jeans and slip into my flats. My scrubs are filthy, but instead of carrying them home, I shove them into the back of my cubby to deal with another day. Sometimes I sneak my clothes into Alex's laundry bag since he has it sent out, but he's been hiding the bag from me lately because he claims I've been "abusing his kindness."

Speak of the devil. "Hey, are you sure you don't want to go out for a drink?" Alex asks.

Today was a bad, bad day, which usually can be fixed with a drink, but I just want to be home. "No thanks. Have one for me."

"Suit yourself. See you at home."

I watch my friends walk ahead of me and down the stairs. They're already having a good time, which makes me glad I said no. I'm grumpy and I'm sure I'd be a downer if I tried to go out. There's no real reason for me to be in such a bad mood. Sure, I lost a patient, but I knew it was going to happen. And yes, my residents are barely keeping their interns in line, so I'm constantly babysitting. But none of that really got to me. I'm just in a shitty mood.

When I get home, it's starting to snow. I keep the porch light on for Alex, but lock the door behind me. I head upstairs and change. And just like clockwork, Derek calls.

"Hey," he says and he sounds about as shitty as I feel.

"You sound just how I feel."

"Bad day?" he asks.

I walk downstairs. "Bad day."

"What do you normally do after a bad day?"

I sit down on the couch and pull my knees to my chest. "Drink, usually, but I'm in no mood to be out and I don't actually feel like drinking. I want chocolate cake. A huge piece. No, an entire cake. That's what I want."

Derek laughs. "Chocolate frosting, too?"

"Of course."

"Buttercream frosting?"

"Is there really any other kind?" I ask.

"You're asking the wrong person. Hold on for a second," he tells me.

I'm used to Derek disappearing during our phone calls. He's always on call and expected to be ready to read some important document or make a call even in the middle of the night. We've been talking for over a month now and only a handful of those calls haven't been interrupted. I turn the TV on and the volume way down. Musak is playing into my ear as I remain on hold.

As of Thursday, Derek's been in office for three months. I've known him for three months. It seems impossible, mostly because he seems so well. Most gun shot victims struggle for the first few months, but I guess he doesn't have the time. Derek doesn't talk about that day much or the days that followed, which is pretty standard. I don't really bring it up, either. Those few days were stressful for me. I was under the biggest microscope and I was terrified that at any moment, I'd become the woman who let the President die. I'm happy he didn't, if only for my career. Of course that's not the only reason.

"So," he says, finally putting a stop to the endless loop of Musak. "Chocolate cake then."

"If we keep talking about chocolate cake I'm going to get depressed because everywhere is closed and I want some right now."

"The thing is, everywhere is closed, unless you're the President."

I feel my cheeks flush. "Derek, what have you done?"

"You'll see in about twenty minutes. Bye." He abruptly ends the call.

For a minute, I sit still. I'm trying to figure out if Derek is sending a cake or if he's about to arrive with a cake and I'm trying to figure out which option I'd like more. I haven't seen him in a month, since he showed up and wanted to try. I blew him off, totally, but he called the next night and we fell into a comfortable pattern. It's been easy just talking to him, but that doesn't mean I don't miss seeing him.

I jump up, feeling like I should be wearing something other than my old college t-shirt and sweats. I run upstairs and pull my jeans back on. I choose an oversized sweater that Callie once said hugged my hips in the perfect way, "a mix of flirty, but also understated," she said, which sounds like bullshit, but I don't really care in this moment. I run a brush through my hair and then decide to tie it back anyway. Derek's seen me looking bad and I've seen him newly shot, and let's be honest, I've seen the inside of his chest, so none of it matters.

By the time I feel less like a cave-dweller, the doorbell rings. For a second I hope it's a kind, but tired bakery worker who is just delivering cake.

I walk downstairs and when I turn the corner and face my door, Derek is standing there. I can't help but grin at him and the box in his hand. I walk towards the door, unlock it, and step back. "Hi," I say.

"Hi," he grins at me.

I notice he doesn't have an entourage. "Where's your posse?"

"I'm going stag tonight. I brought cake so I figured you have to let me in."

I wave him in. "Come on in."

Derek being in my house feels different this time. Last time we were both so heated, but now it feels almost natural. He hands me the box and leans down to kiss my cheek. My stomach flutters. "You look beautiful," he says as he pulls away. He takes off his coat and hangs it on the hook near the door. He slips off his shoes by stepping on each heel, which feels so very normal. He catches me watching him. "So is this really what you look like after a bad day? If so, I want to see you after a good day."

I hand him back the cake. "I will call you Mr. President for the rest of the night if you don't stop flirting."

He looks like a boy who was found with his hand in the cookie jar. "Yes Doctor Grey."

"Bring the cake into the living room and I'll grab some plates and forks. Do you want anything to drink?"

"Coffee, if you have it."

"Black?"

"Yes."

I start the coffee right away and take a deep breath before grabbing the plates, forks, and a knife. Tonight feels different than before. When we first met, during his time in the hospital, was such a whirlwind. So much of that time was spent healing him and making sure no one with a cell phone could take a picture of him. The time in the White House was different, but also, mostly, about his health. Since then, every interaction has been a social call, but for some reason having him here feels more natural. I shake the thought from my head and carry everything except the coffee into the living room.

Derek is staring at the fireplace mantel, looking at the photos I have lined there. When I set everything down, he glances at me. "Who's this?" He's pointing to the photo of my dad, stepmom, and half sisters that was sent to me a few years ago. I still have no idea why I've framed it and put it on display, but it's been on my mantel since the day I got it.

I walk up next to Derek. "That's my dad."

"He left?"

"Sort of. Well, yes, he left, but he more left my mom. She and Richard had been having an affair for years and my dad finally grew a backbone and left."

"You don't like him."

I shrug. "I don't know him. I've never met his daughters, but he said in a letter his older one, Lexie," I point her out, "reminds him of me. He hasn't seen me since I was nine, so I'm not sure how right he could be about that."

"Do you wish you knew him?"

"No," I say with complete certainty. "Richard is my father."

Derek nods.

"I'll grab the coffee."

I pick two of the nicer coffee mugs and pour us each a cup to the brim. Derek is sitting on the couch with the cake box open, slicing into it slowly. The whole room smells like chocolate. I set down his mug. "So how is it that you don't have a slew of agents around you tonight?"

"They trust you," he glances up at me.

"Really?"

Derek plates the first piece of cake. "Really."

"And how is it that you bought a cake from The Cakeroom at midnight?"

"I have connections." He hands me a plate. "It's the best cake in DC."

"I know." I sit down beside him on the couch and take my first bite. "It's so fresh."

He nods while chewing and then says, "The cake was fresh, they just had to ice it. I realized there's like fifteen different kinds of frosting."

"Why would anyone want anything but buttercream?"

"I have no idea."

We're quiet while we eat the rest of our cake and it really is delicious. I have to admit, this is totally a plus to being…friendly with the President. Derek goes for a second piece and I hold out my plate. He smirks at me.

"Can I ask why your day was so bad?" I ask. I'm pushing the boundaries a little bit.

Derek takes a sip of coffee. "The most frustrating thing is not being able to talk about anything with anyone except my team. Unless the general public knows, I can't say anything. So you can ask, but I can't say anything."

I lean back against the couch cushions and tuck my legs up underneath me. Derek glances at me. "How do you expect to build a relationship when you can't even talk about your day?"

"Relationship?"

"Yes, relationship."

He leans back, too. "So we're talking about this?"

I've considered not discussing it and I've considered staying in this back and forth situation and neither are appealing. "We're talking about this."

"You're a civilian and until our relationship is something more than…friends, although that's not the right word, I can't tell you anything. In fact, I think unless we're married, I can't tell you most anything. There needs to be some kind of commitment."

"Okay."

"Okay? That's it?"

I nod. "I just wanted to know."

"What else do you want to know?"

"You told me last time that you'd keep the press at bay. How do you expect to do that?"

Derek crosses one leg over the other and rests is hand on his ankle. "I wouldn't go public right away. It's hard, but not impossible to date. You'd come to the White House. I'll come here. We'll go to a restaurant at three in the morning when everyone else is asleep." He smiles, as if it's a joke, but I'm afraid he's not joking at all. "After some time, if we decide this is something we want, we go public. The paparazzi will be all over your house for a while, so you'd have protection or maybe we'd find a temporary place for you. Maybe we do an interview to introduce you, but it'd be something casual. We'd express that we're dating and we want privacy. Any skeletons in your closet, we'd know the game plan before hand. It's manageable."

"Manageable," I repeat.

He sighs. "It's not ideal, I know."

"Doesn't the whole idea just exhaust you? I mean, it's so much work for what?"

"For you." He says. "Look, I have no idea if this can work. We live in a different era than the guys who came before me. The media runs this country and this could backfire, but I'm willing to try. At least the first part. The dates. The fun. Do you want that?"

"I'm afraid of what comes after."

"I'm talking about the now stuff. Do you want that?"

 _Of course I do_ , I think. I want to date and kiss freely and have sex. God, I want to have sex with him, but I can't stop thinking about everything blowing up in my face.

Derek reaches out for me. He cups my cheek and dear god, it feels nice. "For a second, don't think about the future. Do you want to go on a date with me? Just one date?"

I take his advice and I don't think. I lean forward and kiss him.

Derek kisses me back slowly, cautious, as if I'll run at any moment. I take his lower lip between my own lips and slide my tongue across, back and forth. His hand slides along my jaw and over my ear, his fingers threading along my tied-back hair. I caress his cheek with my left hand, feeling his stubble along my smooth palm. I feel him grin against my lips and then he opens his mouth against mine.

He reaches back and pulls out my hair tie carefully until my hair falls along my shoulders. His fingers slide through my hair and he pulls me closer. I taste his breath on my tongue and kiss him fervently. I lean into him, slowly at first, just my hand on his chest, my knees pressed to his outer thighs, but then I'm drawn in further. Derek's hands run down my back and I find myself lifting myself up, by the guidance of his sure hands, until I'm in his lap. My legs straddle his hips and I keep not thinking as I slide my tongue into his mouth.

Derek's arms are tightly wound around my back. He kisses me with a heady mix of passion and complete confidence which might be the biggest turn on. I remember that he's the President and that makes me flush. I wonder how many women wish they could be in this position. His lips draw away from mine and kiss along my jaw and slowly, so slowly down my throat. I make this ridiculous, guttural sound and I feel him smiling against my skin. I lean back and catch his gaze and I see a sparkle in his eyes. He pulls my lips to his and kisses me softly.

I pull away and rest my forehead on his. "This isn't a moment of weakness," I tell him.

"Okay."

"I'm not just giving in."

"I didn't think you were."

"And I do want a date." I grin. "I want you to impress me with all your Presidential favors."

Derek laughs and his hands run up the back of my sweather. His fingers toy with my bra. He's not taking it off, but he's definitely interested and I like the suspense of what he might do. "Presidential favors, huh?"

"Don't get any ideas."

His hands run down my back. "I wouldn't dream of it."

"Oh, but we're totally having sex right now."

Derek's eyebrow cocks. "Really."

"Are you questioning me?"

"No, definitely not," he says. "I fondly remember from the hospital that you run this show." And then he's kissing me again.

Within minutes, we're both heading upstairs after I quickly tell him Alex will be home eventually. We fumble on the stairs because I want to be kissing him, but also going upstairs, and also removing his clothes. Derek stands below me on the steps and pulls off my sweater, dropping it over the banister and onto the floor below. I do the same, but I drop his shirt right at my feet. We kiss again and stumble for a few more steps and stop again. This time he takes off my bra and then is mouth is on me. I clutch the back of his head and sigh as his tongue sweeps across my nipples. Again we're on the move and we finally make it to my bedroom. I'm taking off my jeans and stepping out of them when Derek shuts the door behind us.

The look in his eyes makes me feel more desirable than I've ever felt before. I spent much of my college years in this position, breathing heavily and wanting someone badly, but this feels so much different. I walk towards Derek as he's unbuttoning his pants and I take over. His hands touch every inch of me and distract me, but eventually I pull his pants from his hips. We kiss and walk backwards towards my bed, discarding the rest of our clothes along the way.

I've never loved the process of learning someone's body. I'd much rather sleep with someone to the point where I know what part is the best to touch. Being with someone new, and being completely sober, usually makes me hesitant. Often times, with a good partner, you find yourself being shown what parts should be kissed, touched, caressed, but that rarely happens the first time. With Derek it's different. I know as soon as my lips touch just below his Adam's apple, that he's going to moan and when he does, I feel a sense of pleasure. He moves around me almost the same and when his hands slide from my hips, up my sides, and beneath my breasts, I begin to shiver with desire.

We take our time exploring one another. I enjoy kissing along his shoulders and sliding my hand along his butt, feeling the way his body clenches and then relaxes against me. I like the way he hovers over me, his face close enough to kiss, but instead of kissing, we just breathe each other in. I like the way he fully makes sure I'm ready by sliding a finger inside me. I grasp onto his forearm and his throat makes the most pleasing sound.

When he finally slides inside of me, the tension has been building for so long that I feel like I might just burst. Derek holds himself still inside me for a long time and kisses me slowly. I like the way I can feel him everywhere at once and I like even more that I can feel his nervous and excited energy. I always thought the girls who said sex wasn't just about the orgasm were crazy. But now I understand. These initial moments are delicious and I feel more fulfilled having lived them with Derek.

After a while of movement, a lot of heavy breathing, some well-placed and not at all awkward laughter, and a final moan, Derek falls to the mattress beside me. We both look at each other and grin. I half-expect him to get up and leave. I wouldn't feel used because I know he'll have to leave eventually, but he doesn't go. He pulls me by the waist and draws me in. He kisses my sweaty forehead.

A little while later, I get up to pee and then I climb back in bed after grabbing a glass of water. Derek's eye are closed, but I know he's awake. I slide right back into his arms where it's warm and he tightens a hold around me. My cheek is pressed to his chest and I press my hands to his sides, trying to keep them warm. "It's really starting to snow out there," I whisper.

Derek takes a deep breath through his nose. "Global warming. Snow in April. In DC."

I smile at his inability to form a full sentence. "The President should be doing something about that whole global warming thing."

He laughs and I feel the sound through his chest. "The President is a little preoccupied."

I lean back enough to look up at him. The room is dark, but through the blinds, some light filters through and I can _just_ see his face. He must know I'm staring at him, so his eyes open. He leans forward and kisses me softly. I try to keep my eyes open, but they flutter closed. When I open them again, he's still looking at me. "Should we talk about this?" I ask.

Derek nods. "Probably."

"Do you want to?"

"Not just yet," he says and closes his eyes again.

I fall asleep and wake sometime in the middle of the night. The room is still and my bed is empty. For a moment I figure Derek's left, since he can't really stick around, but then I hear the toilet flush and he's walking back into the room in a pair of boxers. "Did I wake you?" he asks.

"No." He leans down for his pants. "You have to go."

He nods and sits on the edge of the bed with his pants in his hands. He doesn't move to pull them on. "I do. I have to get back before dawn."

I understand of course, but it feel like everything is about to get very real.

"We should talk," he says.

"Okay."

I sit up and then stand up. I grab my bathrobe from the chair in the corner and I'm about to pull it on when Derek stops me. He places his hand over mine. "What are you doing?"

"I was going to turn the light on."

His eyes stray and he smiles a little and then says, "Why?"

"Because this feels like a lights on kind of conversation."

"Lights on?" he asks and his right hand cups my breast.

I swat his hand away. "Get out of here. None of that."

Derek takes me by my shoulders and turns me around, which I think is mostly so he can stare at my ass. Instead he leads me over to the bed. "Get back in bed."

Even though I am climbing back into bed, I'm objecting. "This doesn't feel like an in bed conversation."

He sits down next to me. I pull my sheet up over my breasts, not feeling self-conscious, but knowing having myself hanging out isn't going to help the situation. "I don't mean we should have a serious conversation. We should, but not now. I don't want that. I want us to make this situation as normal as possible. So what would you normally do after you slept with a guy?" He reaches out and slowly slides his fingers along my arm.

I shiver. "I'd kick him out."

Derek laughs. "Well then, we're right on track."

I consider my real answer, because although he's not saying it explicitly, it seems like Derek is trying to have me decide the next step. I appreciate the opportunity, but I'm not sure what I want or need. I just want to spend more time with him like this. I take his hand in mine. "Can it just be like this?"

"Me sneaking out of your house at two in the morning?" I can tell he's amused, but also worried that I might say yes.

"No. Not that. The rest of it. I just want to be normal."

"That's what I want, too."

"So what does this mean?"

Derek considers my question for a minute. It's so much nicer actually seeing him thinking about it rather than waiting on the other end of the phone. "Why don't we go on a date?"

"Where?"

He considers this, too. "Let me work my magic," he says.

"Okay. When?"

"I hate to say this, but I have to check my schedule. I'm heading to the Philippines at the end of the week, but after that I'll be around. What does your schedule look like?"

I wouldn't say it to Derek because I know he's trying so hard, but I don't want to sit down and schedule our time together. It's a necessary evil and if he weren't the President, we'd still probably have to work on making time, but it feels as unromantic as anything. But I suck it up and say, "I don't know that far in advance. I mean I know what hours I'm supposed to work, but who knows what might happen? Why don't you let me know when you're free next week and we'll go from there."

Derek cups my cheek. "I'm sorry to make this sound like business."

Just by him mentioning it, I feel better. "For now it has to be this way."

He kisses me, but not for long. He gets dressed and makes a quick call, probably to Grant, to have them pick him up. They must be close because not even a minute later, his phone is ringing. He agrees to something and then walks over to me again. I'm curled into a ball on my side, my preferred sleeping position. My eyes are closed but I'm not yet asleep. Derek kisses my forehead. I open my eyes to look at him.

"I had a good time," he says with a cheeky little grin.

I can't help but smile. "Me too. Be safe in the Philippines."

"I will. You be safe here."

We kiss and he leaves. I try to sleep, I really do, but everything keeps replaying in my head. I'm not as worried about what's to come as I was before. Of course I'm thinking about it, but I like the idea of dating. Of doing more of _this_. The loop of events from just hours ago continues in my head and I can't help but blush.


	12. Go

**AN: I have never received so many comments on a chapter in my entire life! Nearly 30 of you wrote really kind things, and I very much appreciate it. I certainly don't write strictly for comments, but receiving them is a treat. As for this part, I hope you enjoy it. It's not what I expected out of this chapter, but I think it's important for the story progress. I'll have a little AN at the end if you're interested. Thanks for reading!**

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When I wake a few hours later, I'm exhausted. In movies and TV shows, it seems like people wake up after a night of sleeping with someone and they forget, but I don't. I remember every moment. I could spend the day in bed just reveling, but I have things to do, even on my day off.

First, I shower. I could also spend all day beneath the running water, but I don't. The longer I stand still, the more I think about Derek. I find myself smiling like some lust-filled girl. That idea doesn't stop me from smiling. I get dressed and think about washing my sheets, because I'm doing laundry today, but I decide to leave them for just one more night.

Downstairs, I'm heading to make coffee when I notice Alex in the living room. He's sitting on the couch with the cake box open in front of him. He glances at me. "Oh good, you're wearing a bra. I was worried the one on the stairs was the only one you had."

I walk into the living room. I see my bra sitting next to him on the couch. "I had sex. So sue me."

Alex points to his plate of cake with a fork. "Chocolate cake? Coffee? Really rousing night, then. I didn't realize the President was such a square."

I sit down next to him on the couch. "Cut me a piece."

He grins and leans forward to slice me some cake. "So you both finally gave in? Months of talking on the phone finally hit its end mark?"

"How'd you know about the phone?" I take the plate from him. "Plus, it wasn't months. Just a month."

"Yeah, but you guys have been doing this song and dance for months."

I have no quip, so I focus on eating my cake, which is just as good as it was last night.

"So what, he showed up with cake and you took off your pants?"

I glare at Alex. "Not exactly. And besides, it's none of your business."

He nods and sets down his plate. "True. I don't need the details. But are you his mistress now?"

"Mistress implies we're doing something we shouldn't be doing. Like he's married or engaged. He's not. He's single and I'm single and we're just two single people who happened to have sex last night. There's nothing to it. We don't need to read into it."

Alex laughs and stands up. "Oh of course, I can see you're definitely not reading into it." He grins at me and I feel exasperated at him. "I have to get ready for work. You might want to turn to CNN. Your boyfriend is about to give a speech."

"On what?" I ask.

He shrugs. "I don't know."

Alex heads upstairs and I don't want to give in, but I do because I'm weak. Maybe not weak, but curious. I turn on the TV and change the channel, keeping the volume down low so that when Alex comes back downstairs, I can pretend I wasn't watching TV at all.

Derek isn't on the screen, but CNN is reporting a bombing in India. The ticker at the bottom reads hundreds are dead or injured and they expect the number to increase as more information comes in. I realize this is exactly why I never watch the news, so I turn off the TV. My job is depressing enough on occasion and I need some safe space that doesn't always include death or dying.

I pick up Alex's empty plate and carry the dishes and mugs into the kitchen. I put the rest of the cake in the refrigerator because it's too good to give up.

As I collect the dish towels and toss them into the laundry room, the phone rings. I can only assume one person is on the other end. "Hello?"

"Is this Doctor Meredith Grey?" A man says on the other end of the phone. Not who I was expecting.

"Yes."

"Doctor Grey, I have a Doctor Ellis Grey here and she's having a bit of a breakdown."

"A breakdown? Where? My mother is supposed to be in Philadelphia. Who is this?"

"Yes Doctor Grey, she is in Philadelphia. My name is James Walsh and I've organized this event for her and as soon as she was supposed to go on stage, she started yelling at me and my team. She seems to think she's supposed to be in surgery. I'm sorry, I tried to call her husband, but he's in surgery at the moment and the nurse at the hospital said I should contact you."

I take a deep breath and press my fist against my forehead. "Is she still freaking out?"

"No ma'am. She's quiet now, but she seems distressed." He goes quiet for a second. "I don't want to make any accusations, but she doesn't seem healthy."

"Is her assistant there? Valerie?"

"Yes, but Doctor Grey doesn't seem to know who Valerie is."

"Alright. Put me on the phone with her."

There's a bit of shuffling and then I hear someone whisper something. A moment later, it's my mother. "Meredith?" she asks and before waiting for an answer, she says, "I have to be at the hospital. You know how important this surgery will be for my career. Why don't you understand?"

"I do understand, Mom. But you have to give a speech first."

"No. Not today! I have to operate."

"Mom, listen to me—"

"I have to operate!" she yells and the line goes dead.

For a second I catch my breath. I close my eyes and breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth. I know her Alzheimer's is going to get worse, but this feels so much worse than even a month or two ago. When I call back, Valerie answers. "She's calm," she says right away. She's whispering which means other people are around.

"What do you need me to do?" I ask her. Valerie has been with Mom for a long time, so she's seen probably more than I have. She always knows the next step.

"I don't know."

I want to call Richard, but I know he has an important surgery and I don't want to make him panic. I could drive to Philly, but who knows the state she might be in when I get there? She could be just fine. But sitting here and waiting for it to pass feels wrong. If I tell anyone else, I'll out my mother and she doesn't want that. She wants to pretend she's still okay. But she's not. I just wish I could magically just get to her.

I have an idea.

"Valerie, I'll call you right back. Give me just a minute."

I have no right to call Derek, especially if he's addressing the nation, but I'm feeling selfish and I need to at least try. I dial his number from my cell phone and wait. The line rings and rings, but he doesn't pick up. Just as his voicemail kicks in, I hang up. I have no right.

I call Valerie back. "She's fine now," she says immediately.

"Fine?"

"She's about to go on stage."

"What happened?"

"She was talking about her surgery and then she went quiet. A minute later, she looked up at me and asked for a glass of water. I got her one and when I got back, she was reviewing her notes. She took a sip, handed it back to me, and said she was ready. Hold on," Valerie says. In the background, I hear my mother begin her speech. "She's back."

For a moment I want to ask, _Yes, but for how long_? But I don't. "Thank you, Valerie. You'll be back this afternoon?"

She makes a noise like an mmm-hmm to confirm. "Our flight gets it at four."

"Okay. I think we're going to have to have a conversation about her future plans."

Of course Valerie knows if my mom stops traveling for speaking engagements, Valerie will be out of a job. Despite that she says, "I think it's time."

Following the call, I'm feeling shaken. I can't stop thinking about how desperate my mother's voice sounded when she said she needed to be in surgery. It's like part of her still realized she sounded crazy, but that part couldn't break through. It was heart-wrenching to listen to.

I can't help but feel selfish for not wanting to deal with this today. I want so much to just be stuck in a permanent state of happiness about what transpired between Derek and me last night, but real life rarely lets you put a pause to any unhappiness. I'm dealing with a sick mother and Derek is dealing with the death of hundreds, so neither of us has made it scot-free this morning.

I try to focus on doing boring domestic things to keep me occupied. I do laundry, clean the kitchen, run out to buy some groceries, and it helps. My mother being ill isn't a new concept, but I think the worst part is knowing how brilliant and capable my mom is and how very soon, everything she knows will be lost. I have no idea how she's supposed to break the news to the medical community, but she's going to have to. And then we need to try to treat her. I've read about clinical trials. I'm thinking about pulling up some information on trials when my phone rings.

 _Derek_.

"Hi," I say, trying to bring myself back to how I felt this morning.

"Hi," he says and he sounds good. Happy, even. "How's your day going?"

Our relationship, if you can call it that, is so new. I don't want to burden him. So I skirt past the drama and say, "Good. I just finished cleaning and I was about to do some research."

"Working even on your day off. Impressive."

"Do you even get days off?"

He laughs. "Probably not. So far the hours are shit, so I'm guessing not."

"Yeah, you had an early start this morning. I saw the news."

"It'll be a long day," he says. "I might be making a stop in India on my way to the Philippines. Don't spread that around though. It's not confirmed yet."

"I thought you couldn't share information with me."

"Well, that's not a matter of national security. Plus, I want you to know where I'll be. If that's something you'd like, too."

I smile and look down at my feet. If Derek were here, he'd see me blushing. "Yeah, I'd like that."

I can tell he's smiling just by the sound of his voice. "I hate the idea that I might leave tomorrow and not see you for a week."

"We just went more than a month of not seeing each other."

"Sure, but it's different now."

"Okay, but you just said you have a busy day."

"True, but I have to each lunch eventually, right?"

"Of course. What do you propose?"

"Be ready at noon. I'll meet you outside your house."

I'm about to ask him how he even expects to get away, but I decide it doesn't matter. "Noon, then."

The next two hours drag, but eventually it's just about noon. I look outside and the sun is shining and it's warm for April, so I skip my jacket and head outside. It's weird to think just yesterday it was snowing. I sit on my front steps, as if I'm waiting for the school bus to pick me up. I'm a ball of nervous energy. I'm not complaining, but I thought I'd have a week to figure this all out. Derek's leaving for a week and I thought I'd be able to figure out what I really want. In any normal relationship, I wouldn't need to do so much planning ahead, but our relationship is definitely not normal.

I check my watch and I have a minute to go. Knowing Derek, he'll be right on time.

As expected, just a few seconds later, a black unmarked car pulls up to the house. I walk down the steps and watch as Grant steps out of the car. I haven't seen him since the night at the bar and I feel suddenly embarrassed. He looks as stoic as usual. "Doctor Grey," he greets and opens the backdoor for me.

"Grant," I nod.

I climb into the backseat and Derek's hand is immediately in mine. I turn to him as the door shuts behind me. He's grinning at me. "Hi."

I lean in and kiss him softly. As I pull away, I say, "Hi."

"You look good."

My hair is lying flat again my head and I'm wearing just a t-shirt and jeans. I don't feel like I look especially good, but as soon as Derek says it, I feel great. "Shouldn't you be in some meeting or something?"

"Nope. Not right now." He kisses me. "I'm hungry now." He turns to the driver, who I don't recognize. "We can go now, Carson. Just stick to the backroads."

"Backroads?" I ask.

Derek leans down to pick up a big brown bag. "We're going to drive for the next hour. Spend some time together. And no, this isn't our first official date."

A black partition goes up between the front and backseats. Derek and I are seemingly alone. He pulls out foil-wrapped food from inside the brown bag.

"I have no complaints if this is our first date."

"I do," he says seriously. "I want to wow you with my Presidential abilities."

"I think you already did that. Last night."

Derek's eyes lock on mine. In an instant, he's kissing me, and nothing like the chaste kisses from before. His fingers lock in my hair and he's pulling me against him. His attention is well-received and I wrap my arms around his waist. For a long time we just kiss and then his stomach growls, causing us both to pull away in a fit of laughter.

"Let's feed you before your stomach eats itself."

"It concerns me if you actually believe that happens. Aren't you a general surgeon?"

"Yes, and since I'm the doctor here, I know what I'm talking about. And since you're a glorified delivery man right now, tell me what we're eating."

Derek smiles at me. "I wasn't sure what you'd like, but I went to this great deli and bought us a chicken pesto sandwich and a roast beef sandwich. Some fruit, to stay healthy, some chips because what is life without chips, and two bottles of," he starts and reaches into his bag, "sparkling cider."

"Sparkling cider?" I laugh.

"I'm on the job, so no drinking."

"Very responsible." I take one of the small bottles of cider. "Shouldn't we have fancy glasses?"

"Ah," he says, and pulls out two champagne flutes. "Fancy."

I take the plastic flutes from him and fill both with the small bottles. Derek unwraps the sandwiches between us. I hand him a glass.

"Cheers."

"Cheers." I take a sip.

"So, which do you want?"

I consider my options and then say, "Let's split them. Unless you have a preference."

"No, I wanted both, so that sounds good."

We dig into our food, which really is delicious, as the car drives through my neighborhood and into another. I rarely spend any time exploring around me, so it's interesting to see how different the next neighborhood is to mine.

I don't spend a whole lot of time looking out the window, though, because I'm spending a lot of time looking at Derek. Plus, he keeps asking me questions because he's chatty.

"So, anything eventful happen since I left this morning?"

We both get silly looks on our faces remembering the events from this morning. Immediately after I'm thinking of my mom again. I push through the thought. "Not really. I had more chocolate cake."

"For breakfast?" he asks.

I shrug. "Sure. Why not?"

"How do you stay healthy when you're eating chocolate cake for breakfast and ordering in pizza every night?"

"I don't order in every night. And _you're_ the one who brought the cake."

"True, but I had it for dessert, not breakfast."

"What are you, healthy?"

"Very."

"But you're eating chips."

Derek holds up the bag. "First, these are organic." I roll my eyes. "Second, they're baked, not fried. And it's probably the first chip I've had in months." He eats one and closes his eyes to savor.

"That explains why you think these are chips."

"They are!"

"Are not. Chips need to be fried. They need to taste like a mistake. And your fingers need to be all oily when you're eating them. These are healthy chips, which are useless."

Derek laughs. "I had no idea you were impassioned about chips."

"What can I say? My diet is comprised of chips, so I know what I'm talking about."

It feels nice to be talking about absolutely nothing, which is what we do for the next twenty minutes. We dance around any subject that feels heavy. We don't talk about the bombing, or my mom, or what any of this means. I just have a meal with a guy, not the President. It's good to not have to worry for even a little while.

After what feels like just a few minutes, the car stops and someone taps on the window. Derek and I have eaten practically everything. There's a few grapes in the container and half his bag of chips (which I considered eating despite how awful they are), but we've devoured everything else. I guess that should've told me how long we've been in this car together, but it's felt too short, especially knowing Derek is probably leaving tomorrow for a country who was recently bombed.

Derek rolls down the window. "Is it time?" he asks.

"Yes, sir," Grant answers.

"Okay, just a minute."

Derek pushes all the wrappers away and into the brown bag. He slides closer to me and I'm very much aware my breath probably tastes terrible. He leans into me and I wait for him to kiss me, but he doesn't for a long time. He holds my face in his hands and looks into my eyes. I reach up and take his forearms in my hands, running my fingers up and down the nice material of his suit.

When he does kiss me, he savors the moment, as do I. I wonder if he's worried to head overseas – if he's concerned about another bomb. I am and I'm sure his people are. I open my mouth to him and as his tongue slides in, I wish we were in my bedroom again. I don't want to wait a week and that scares me. We've just started, not even twenty-four hours ago, and I already want to spend more time with him.

Derek finally pulls away and smiles at me. "I'll call you, okay?"

"Okay."

"Probably not until next week, though."

"That's fine. I understand." I do understand, but it doesn't feel fine.

I lean in and kiss him once more.

"Thanks for lunch."

"When I get back, we have a real date."

"I'm holding you to that, Mr. President."

Derek gets that look in his eyes again. "I love it when you call me that. Not all the time because it's nice to hear my name, but sometimes."

"I'll keep that in mind." I kiss him once more. "Be safe, okay?"

He turns serious. "I will. I promise."

I open the door and climb out. Right before I shut the door, I see Derek's face and he's smiling at me. It might not have been a real first date, but it felt like it to me. I walk up my front steps and turn to watch the car go.

* * *

 **AN (Part 2): I received a couple of comments about how the reviewer wanted this story to be just light and fluffy, i.e. no drama with Ellis. I'm sorry if any of you feel that way, but I find the relationship between mother and daughter, and Ellis's battle, to be vital to Meredith's story line. Plus this story was tagged as Romance/Drama, so it won't be bright and shiny for every single update. I hope you'll still enjoy reading!**


	13. Moment

**AN: I had started writing something last week, but it wasn't what I wanted, or what you guys would want. So I had a stroke of genius today and realized I _had_ to write this from two different points of view. No, one isn't Meredith's. One is Tom Grant, the head of Derek's secret service and the other...Derek himself (which should please a lot of you). I really like this update and hope you will, too.**

 **As always, thank you for your amazing comments! They are really well-received and I read them multiple times because they make me so happy.**

* * *

 **TOM**

"The President is expected to arrive today at Camp David for his first stay. Many pundits are questioning why the President needs a trip to Camp David so soon after returning from his first trip abroad—which included three days in India after the devastating 8.4 earthquake which hit just one week ago today and a trip to sure up support in the Philippines—but the President's advisors assure us that the focus of this trip is to consider what his next steps are towards combating ISIS and the growing concern over the previous administration's tax bill. The President will be joined on Friday by the Vice President and his family. The President's Cabinet will meet on Monday to put a plan in place."

The press staff take notes on the report. At any given moment, the press room is full with at least a dozen employees and nearly double the televisions blasting information. I don't often find myself visiting the press staff, but I'm waiting for 6pm to arrive and I don't want to be breathing down the President's neck.

I remember when the President first asked me to be part of his staff, especially as the one to keep him safe, and how honored I was. That day he went from Derek to Mr. President. My mom had concerns. She'd seen Derek and I become friends through college and best friends through our careers right after. Derek was the guy I grabbed a beer and scotch with at the end of a hard week. He was the guy I'd complain to about my busy, vapid, thankless job as a lawyer. My mom knew everything would change. Derek would no longer be Derek.

And yes, as much as it pains me to admit, my mom was right. Derek isn't just Derek. He's more now and he's working to change the world. I might not be able to shoot the shit on the regular with my best friend, but I'm still an important part of his life.

My watch beeps at 6pm and I leave the press room. I walk down the hall toward the Oval. I'm not one to parade my accomplishments around, but walking through the halls of the White House feels pretty impressive.

I greet the secretary and motion toward the door. She gives me a smile. I knock once.

"Come in," he says.

"Mr. President," I say and shut the door behind me. "You wanted me to interrupt you when 6pm arrived. It's," I check my watch, "just nearly 6:02."

The President looks up from his papers. "Right. Okay."

"If you're busy I can—"

"No." He puts his pen down. "I'm ready."

The President stands and pulls on his suit jacket. "Is the car ready?"

"Yes sir."

"Great."

We walk from the Oval Office. The secretary stands. "Mr. President," she says.

He smiles. "Relax Sophie." She seems to. "I'll be gone until Monday morning, so have any urgent calls forwarded to Camp David. Anything personal, like my family, can come through my cell phone, but let them know I won't be checking often and not to panic."

Sophie smiles. "Yes sir. Have a good time."

The President grins. "I will."

 **DEREK**

I'm a liar. I'm Nixon level lying.

Okay, so maybe this isn't a Watergate situation, but it's still pretty shitty.

First, I'm in another unmarked car. No Presidential flags waving in the wind or police officers following close to leap in front of a(nother) bullet. This is against every protocol. If anyone calls me out on it, I'll claim ignorance.

Second, I'm not going to Camp David to figure out my next move. Well, I am, but not until Thursday night through the weekend. The Vice President and I have a lot of conversations that need to be had, but not tonight.

Third, I'm on my way to pick up Meredith.

 _That's_ the big lie.

I feel bad. Truly. But the White House has such little privacy and I need to spend quiet, secluded time getting to know her.

We pull up outside Meredith's house. Since it's still bright out and neighbors are everywhere, Grant climbs from the car. It's weird to think I can't just walk up to her house when I want to. To think that if someone sees me, all this could be over. It's frustrating, but necessary.

Grant stands at her door for a minute when someone answers. I can't see, but a moment later, Grant is walking back toward the car. He climbs into the front seat. "Her roommate says she's still at the hospital in surgery."

I consider my options. I can't very well go back to the White House because that would raise some eyebrows. And I can't just go wait for her in a bar. So I decide to go to her. "Let's go to the hospital."

I don't have much of a plan. I know we can park beneath the hospital, but after that I'm just flying by the seat of my pants. When we arrive, we park underneath the hospital and Grant turns to me. He's a trooper for putting up with me. He's supposed to be protecting me from harm, not sneaking around so I can meet up with a woman. But he never gives me even the slightest hint that he's annoyed.

"What do you want to do?"

I think for a minute and decide, "I'd like to see her performing surgery."

Grant nods. "I'll find the Chief of Surgery."

While Grant is away, I daydream about the next twenty-four-ish hours. Meredith and I haven't spent more than a few hours around one another, so it'll be interesting to see what we're actually like together. Maybe all of this will be moot after we find out we're not really compatible. It's not likely, but it's definitely something to consider.

Troy, my driver today, isn't one for talking, so I stay quiet. He's also looking around like mad, probably making sure no one shows up and questions an unmarked government car parked beneath a hospital.

Grant strides back to the car and opens the backdoor for me. "The Chief has granted us access to the maintenance elevator which opens up right next to the galley overlooking Dr. Grey's operating room. He says the floor is basically empty right now since all the ORs are occupied."

I climb from the car. "What did you tell the Chief?"

"I said you wanted to see Dr. Grey performing surgery."

I laugh. "That easy?"

Grant gives me a sly smile, a rare moment when he breaks his stoic exterior. "I'm good at what I do."

"Yes, you are."

We take the elevator up to the third floor and Grant stays back while Troy checks the hallway. He motions us forward and Grant leads the way to the galley. The door has a sign: _No viewing_ , but since the Chief said it was okay, I walk in. A row of seats overlooks the brutally white operating room where a person is sliced open below. My gag reflex is seriously impairing me at the moment.

I take a seat as Grant and Troy stand by the doors.

Below, there are four people around the operating table, including one person sitting. I notice Meredith right away and then I hear her voice through the speak on the wall.

"You see this?" she asks someone.

"Yes. Is that…bile?" a woman asks.

"Yes," Meredith says. "He tore right through the stomach wall. Shit." She puts one of the instruments in her hand into a bowl and picks up another.

"What do we do now, Doctor Shaw?"

"We find the tear and then we suture."

"And then?"

Dr. Shaw is quiet for a moment and then she says. "We speak to Mr. Fishbeck about his overeating and explain the limitations of gastric bypass. Again."

I think Meredith is smiling beneath her surgical mask. "Good. I'm going to start the sutures and I want you to finish."

"Me?" Dr. Shaw asks.

"Yes. It's time to take off the kid gloves."

There's a monitor above the panes of glass that shows an up close on the man's insides, but I don't pay attention to the blood and literal guts. I watch Meredith's hands. She works with precision. She locates the tear and asks for sutures and gets to work. She works deftly, her hands moving up and down as she carefully sews up the tear. She works quickly, but I can tell she doesn't make a single mistake. She pays close attention, her head bent, still teaching the entire way. She's incredible to watch.

"Okay, your turn," Meredith says and she hands over the equipment. "That's right, stick close to the previous stitch and make sure not to go too deep into the stomach. Great."

Meredith looks up, probably to take in the room, but her eyes travel higher. Her eyes go wide when she sees me. I grin down at her. She looks over at the clock. She knows she's late. I cross one leg onto my knee and lean back to show her I'm comfortable waiting. She's smiling again.

The next few minutes have Meredith flustered and a bit distracted, but as involved in her patient as before. Periodically, she looks up and I'm always looking at her.

Fifteen minutes later, they're finished. The patient is stitched up and being wheeled back to a room. I wonder if my surgery was similar. Meredith gives me a pointed look and I stay seated. She heads into a room next to the OR and a few minutes later, there's a soft knock on the door.

 **TOM**

I open my door and Meredith is standing there practically bouncing with excitement. I have to say, if I'm expected to help the President sneak around while getting to know someone, it's nice to know that the person is as easy to like as Meredith. I open the door wider.

Meredith says, "What are you doing here?"

"You were late."

" _How_ are you here?"

"The Chief let me in."

She pales. "What does he know?"

"Nothing. Grant said I wanted to see you operating. Nothing more."

Meredith glances at me. "Did he look suspicious when you told him?"

"No, Doctor Grey. He seemed amiable."

The President holds her attention. "Are you glad to see me?"

She grins. "Yes."

He goes to kiss her and she pulls back, blushing. "We're not alone," she whispers.

"Grant? Troy? Would you look away for a second so I can kiss Doctor Grey?"

"Yes, sir," Troy says.

"Yes Mr. President," I say.

I effectively look down at my feet for a few moments while they kiss. When they start talking again, I know it's safe to look. "There's another surgery coming in, so we should probably go. I have to change and get my bag. Where exactly are you parked?"

"Just by the exit."

Meredith, clearly comfortable with people watching now, kisses the President again. They're drawn in like magnets—holding each other close. "I'll be there in ten minutes." One more kiss and she's walking past me, giving me a slight smile.

I look at the President and he has the goofiest grin on his face. After a moment I ask, "Are you ready, sir?"

He composes himself. "Yes."

 **DEREK**

Despite Grant's scowl, I'm waiting outside the car. I'm a gentleman first and gentlemen pick women up at the front door. Now I can't really do that, so I figured I should at the very least stand outside the car.

Meredith steps out of the elevator looking too goddamn good to be fair. She's been working all day, saving lives, probably on her feet, and she looks fantastic in just a pair of jeans and a sweater. She smiles all the way to the car. "Doctor Grey," I say when she gets close. I kiss her cheek.

"President Shepherd," she says.

I hold open the backdoor and she climbs in. Troy takes her bag to the back of the car and I slide in next to her. Before anyone else gets in, I kiss her briefly. Once Troy and Grant are inside, we both pull away.

"How was your trip?" she asks.

I take her hand. "Good. Productive."

We head out from underneath the hospital and set out on our drive roughly sixty-five miles North. I decide to keep the privacy partition down for now out of respect for the agents. It must be hard to constantly be cut off.

"I'm sorry if I interrupted your surgery."

"You didn't. It was actually nice that you could see what I do every day."

"Well, I have a scar from what you do every day that I can refer to, but it's nice to see you operating on someone other than me. Will your patient be okay?"

"Yeah, he just needs to learn a little self-control." Meredith looks out the window. Her hair is down and lying soft along her shoulders. I can't wait to run my fingers through. "Where are we going?" she asks.

I grin. "I told you; it's a surprise."

She narrows her eyes. "I hate surprises."

"You'll like this one, I promise."

As soon as we leave the city, with the sun setting on the left side of the car, everything feels more quiet. Meredith turns to me. "Are you allowed to not be in the White House for a night or are we going back there?"

"We're not staying at the White House."

We cross into Maryland and the forest becomes dense around us. I tell her a bit more about my trip, keeping all the business to myself. I tell her about the sad scene in India. She understands devastation like that, having seen victims from a plane crash a few years back and a rare tornado just last year. I talk about the Philippines, which was my first trip to the South Pacific. Meredith tells me about work and somehow we manage to make the hour go by quickly.

I'm excited to see Camp David. It's such an important place for the sitting President. So many important conversations were had within the four walls and I do hope to accomplish something great this weekend. But even more importantly, I hope to have a great time for the next day.

We pull into the driveway, which has a huge gate. Troy dials a number into a keypad and we're let in. There's a fence running the length of the property through the woods. The drive is dark. "Where _are_ we?"

"So the President has a few places he, or she—hopefully soon, can go to get away. There's a few places in the city, but they're close to the White House and really I'd have no reason to go to any of them. The best place for some seclusion is Camp David."

"Are we at Camp David?" Meredith practically yells.

"We are."

She looks around like crazy as we pull up and I do, too. We crest a hill and at the top is a well-lit, multi-building estate surrounded by trees and greenery. The front walk is laid with gray stone pavers with flower boxes on either side. The main house is two stories with a large front window displaying a chandelier. To the left is a garage with rooms above. Behind that is a cabin. I know there are multiple little homes on the property for guests. I'm not sure how most of this works, but luckily there's a housekeeper to keep me straight.

My entire staff is sworn to secrecy about Meredith, so when I expressed interested in bringing her out here, I had to call Kate, the housekeeper. She didn't seem so shocked at the idea and as we climb from the car, I notice an older woman standing beneath the driveway light looking very friendly. She doesn't seem like someone who would judge my relationship. I walk towards her. "You must be Kate."

"Mr. President, it's so nice to finally meet you. I voted for you," she says slyly.

"Please, call me Derek."

"Derek, then." She's probably the only person in the world of my employ that actually will agree to calling me by my first name.

I motion Meredith forward. "This is Meredith Grey, the doctor who performed my surgery."

Kate shakes her hand, too. "Doctor Grey, it's an honor."

Meredith looks a bit stunned. "Oh, well thank you."

Kate looks over our shoulders and motions to Troy and Grant. "Let me show you where to park." She says to them. "Why don't you two head inside and I'll show these gentlemen where they're staying tonight?"

I don't wait for another second. I take Meredith's hand and we walk inside. The front room is grand, exactly what you'd expect. The house feels vaguely 70s-ish, with warm wood paneled walls and antique lamps on the tables. But somehow it works. We walk into a beautiful living room with a stone fireplace. There are three huge couches, which boast the setting for a party, or a big group. To the left is a monster dining room with a table that seats thirty by my count. We make it into the kitchen before either of us say anything.

Meredith's the first one to comment. "This is unreal."

"Tell me about it." I run my hand along the marble countertops. I open the refrigerator and find it stocked with food. All foods I like it. "Being the President is awesome."

Meredith laughs from across the room. "Haven't you figured that out before?"

"I'm a bit slow sometimes."

"At least I figured _that_ out." She teases.

I'm about to cross the room to kiss her when Kate walks in. "I see you're properly investigating."

I feel a bit out of place. It feels like her house. "Some, yes. This place is beautiful."

"Well, it's all yours now. I've put your agents in two cabins near the garage. There's more security all around, but besides yourselves and your agents, no one is sleeping here."

"You don't stay?" I ask.

"Oh no," she laughs the idea off. "I have a home nearby. I just come in and tidy up once a week and before the President arrives. Would you believe I've been on staff since Bush Senior?"

"Really?" Meredith asks, clearly amused.

"Really," Kate confirms. She looks at her watch. "Well, I should be getting on. I've left food, since you mentioned wanting to cook yourself. And I've set you upstairs. The room is hard to miss. It says Presidential Suite. I made a fire for you. Is there anything else?"

"No. This is perfect."

Kate nods. "Thank you, sir. Derek," she corrects and smiles. "It was lovely meeting you, Doctor Grey."

"Please, call me Meredith."

"Meredith, of course. Well, goodnight," she says with a little twinkle in her eye.

For the first time since the start of my presidency, there is no one walking my halls, working while I sleep. There are no SSA agents within an arm's reach. There are no cameras in the hallways. No press. No gawkers outside my house. I'm almost completely alone. With Meredith. It's as if the very same thought is rolling around her head, because she relaxes and grins at me. A second later we're kissing.

 **TOM**

I do a perimeter check on the house for my own peace-of-mind. I trust the security here, but I trust myself more. I pass the large kitchen windows and see the President and Dr. Grey locked in one another's arms. A car, probably Kate's, starts in the driveway. It didn't take them long. I move on, giving them space, but I can't help but laugh a little to myself. Magnets, those two.

I make my way back to my cabin. Toby is sitting outside his looking up at the stars. "Are they settled in?"

"Yes." I take a seat next to him. Toby's young, maybe 25. His first name is Matt.

"What do you think about all this?"

"The house?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "No. The President and the doctor?"

"I think they seem happy."

"It's going to be hard when everyone finds out."

"The President is ready for that."

Toby nods. "But she isn't."

"I don't know about that. She's understandably cautious. You saw her file. Her dad left her, her mom wasn't around when she was young, and now her mom's sick. She's had a hard go of it. But she's strong. She stepped up to save the President without a second thought." I glance up at the dark sky. "I think if it's anyone who is strong enough to deal with this, it'll be Meredith Grey."

"You have a lot of faith in her."

" _He_ has a lot of faith in her. I'm just a trusty sidekick." I give Toby a small smile. "I'm turning in. Have a good night."

Toby stays seated outside. "You, too."

 **DEREK**

We lie in front of the fire. I have my arm tucked under Meredith's head and she's nestled close. I can feel her warm breath on my skin. We're covered by a thin blanket, but the fire is so hot and we don't need much more.

"Aren't you hungry?" I ask.

She runs her hand up and down my spine. "No."

She sounds sleepy. "We can't waste any time sleeping."

Meredith's eyes are closed. "But sleep is so nice."

"So is pizza." I lean close to her ear. "And sex," I whisper.

She laughs and blinks her eyes open. "We just had sex."

"I mean more sex."

I roll over so I'm on top of her. She groans, but not in that "yes, let's do it way," but more in the "let me sleep way." I lean down and kiss her neck. "Derek," she says with a little laugh.

"What?" I ask as I pull back.

Her eyes are now open. She reaches up and strokes my cheek. "Thank you for bringing me here."

I lean down and kiss her soundly. I love the way she immediately responds to me. She pulls me back to her and it feels like every inch of her finds an inch of me to touch. I slide my fingers through her hair and moan into her mouth. If she expected we wouldn't have sex again, she was wrong because suddenly I'm on my back and she's on top of me.

The fire light is enchanting, warming every inch of her skin. She moves slowly, teasing me and I love it. It's like she knows my body already. She leans down to kiss me and her hair curtains around us. I hold onto her face, keeping her locked against me. We're much slower this time. The carnal need is still there, but I can keep it at bay while I enjoy the sight and feeling of her. I dreamed of these moments with her the entire time I was away. I want to enjoy every second.

An hour or so later, we're sitting in front of the fire eating a plate of fruit, cheese, crackers, and nuts while drinking glasses of red wine. Meredith is wearing my white shirt and it looks so good on her. I've put on boxers to keep her from jumping me.

"I was starving," she says as she leans back, patting her stomach.

"See?" I pop a grape into my mouth. "I knew you were hungry."

Meredith takes a sip of wine. "I had other priorities."

I give her a wink.

We sit in comfortable silence for a while. The fire crackles beside us. I opened a window just a few inches and I can hear the tree frogs singing nearby. It's so nice to have a few moments of peace and quiet. I look at Meredith and I can tell she's thinking about something.

"What are you thinking?" I ask.

She shakes her head, maybe trying to shake the thought free. "Nothing." She smiles.

"Tell me."

Meredith considers this for a moment and then says, "You never talk about the shooting anymore."

I know I don't. It seems every interview I have, someone wants to ask me about the shooting. Even with Meredith, it seems impossible to talk about. "I don't like thinking about it, let alone talking about it."

"I understand," she says.

She doesn't seem upset, per say, but she does seem maybe a little disappointed. I guess if anyone understands how scary that day was, Meredith would. "I remember the bullet hitting me." Meredith looks at me. "I knew exactly what had happened, but it shocked me. I knew the only people who could've shot me were part of my team and that's what I was thinking about when everyone flooded me. Grant was right there on top of me, making sure no other bullets came my way.

"When I woke up after surgery, I had no idea if I would be okay and that scared me to death. But the craziest part? I was more concerned about being known as the President who died on his inauguration day. I didn't want that. Isn't that insane?"

Meredith shakes her head. "Not at all. I think people are usually pretty irrational after being shot. It comes with the territory."

"You made me feel so much better that week," I admit. Meredith tilts her head. "I was terrified. I was hurt and afraid and you kept making me feel like I was going to be fine. I wouldn't have made it through without you."

Meredith climbs up onto her knees and closes the space between us. She presses her forehead to mine and I close my eyes. She says nothing, but I know she's here for me. She kisses me softly and sits back down.

It feels good to talk about the shooting. I tried to talk to my family about it once, and as lovely as my sisters are, they all made it about themselves. And my mom just got this sad look, probably remembering my father, understandably so. Even though Meredith wasn't shot that day, she did experience the pressure of trying to keep the newly inaugurated President alive and I'm sure it took a toll. A thought like that reminds me that Meredith truly could be a partner for me, not just someone to date and sneak around with.

I look up at her and she's looking at me. It's late.

"Do you want to go to bed?" I ask.

"I thought you said we couldn't waste time on sleep." She teases.

I want to tell her we're going to have a lot of time together, but I don't want to scare her off. So I shake my head and say, "Maybe just a little nap," even though I know we'll sleep the whole night together, a luxury I've yet to truly experience with her.

We both get ready. She uses the bathroom while I put the food and wine away. When I walk back into the room, she's already in bed. I pee and brush my teeth, remove my boxers, and climb into the bed beside her. Meredith slides into my arms and I realize she's also naked. I place a kiss to her forehead and I feel her relax in my arms. She must be tired because within minutes, she's breathing softly, clearly asleep.

It takes me a while to fall asleep, but like I said, I don't want to miss a moment.


	14. Smile

**AN: I say it every time, but I can't help it. You're all just amazing with the comments and the love. I really appreciate every single message I get and the support means the world to me. I'm very proud of this story and I'm so glad you're all liking it. If you haven't commented or reviewed before, I'd love to hear from you! For now, enjoy. (Oh, and this update is a little on the rated M side.)**

* * *

I wake up warm and comfortable. The bed is empty beside me, but I didn't actually expect to wake up with Derek at my side. It's almost 9am and I'm sure he starts his day early; he seems like a morning person. I lie back, flat against the mattress, and stare up at the crown cornice ceiling and the crystal chandelier hanging from the very center. I've seen crystal chandeliers before, but I've always doubted their authenticity. I don't believe for a second that the President's _second_ home would have anything but genuine crystal hanging from the rafters.

All day could be spent lying in bed, but I want to find Derek. Maybe I can convince him to join me.

I pull on my underwear from the floor and walk into the bathroom. On the wall is a silk bathrobe—completely impractical if you want to stay warm, but completely alluring. I'm hoping it's new. I love Michelle Obama, but I really don't want to wear another woman's bathrobe. I assume it's a new, welcoming addition to the house, and I pull on the robe.

Downstairs it smells of coffee and bacon. Not until my stomach growls awake do I even realize I'm hungry.

Derek stands at the stove in his boxers and a white t-shirt. He has the radio on low, but I can still hear pundits yammering on about Derek's next big decision. I know this time is meant for us, to figure out what _us_ even means, but I wonder if he's worried about the upcoming week.

I walk into the kitchen, the stone floors cold beneath my feet. Derek turns and smiles at me. "Good morning."

"Morning." I smile at him.

Derek leans down and kisses me lightly. I realize I haven't brushed my teeth and I feel mortified, but he doesn't seem to care or notice. As he pulls back, he gives me this look. I can't explain it, but it makes my stomach flutter. He cups my cheek in his hand and kisses me again, deeper this time, parting my lips with his tongue. I bask in the feeling of him, allowing myself to melt against his chest. He pulls back right before I think about taking off my robe.

"You look good," he says while running his fingers down the robe tie.

"So do you. You look more relaxed today."

"I am."

I look over to the stove. "Are you making me breakfast?"

"Yes. Shit," he turns back and flips the bacon which is perfectly crisp. "You distracted me." He motions to the coffee pot with the spatula. "The coffee is some fancy kind from Italy. It's the best I've ever had. I'd go to war with Italy if they stopped exporting to us."

I grab a mug from the cabinet and begin to pour myself a cup. "You know, it's less funny when you actually could declare war if you wanted to."

He plates the bacon. "I'm happy to tell you it's a bit more complicated than that."

"Good." I take a sip and he's right. He's so right. " _Good_. This coffee is worth war being fought over. Screw Helen of Troy. This is real love."

Derek laughs and walks over to me, threading his one arm behind my back. "You are, without a shadow of a doubt, the weirdest person I know."

I push him away with my palm and feign anger. "Says the man who was talking about _Star Trek_ the other day in a speech."

"No no. _Star Trek_ is no longer weird. Or dorky. In the 90s, maybe, but now it's _cool_."

He keeps talking about _Star Trek_ and I ignore him because I realize how very normal this all feels. If I force myself to forget where I am, the guards and agents outside, and his job, this is just a normal morning. I wake up to a man who kisses me and makes me breakfast, who flirts and shares shy looks with me, and makes almost all of this feel normal somehow.

Derek tilts his head a little and I hear him ask, "What?"

I shake my head and take another sip of coffee. "Nothing."

He gives me a knowing look and without a word, I think he knows exactly what I'm thinking.

"So what do you want to do today?" I ask.

"I was thinking of snooping," he says matter-of-factly.

I'm sure my eyes go wide. "What?"

Derek laughs and leans back against the counter. I love having these moments alone with him, but I wish any of his detractors could see him like this: relaxed, happy, and confident. "This house has to have some secrets and I want to know them. So I want to snoop. And then maybe a walk."

"In that order."

"Well, not necessarily." Derek turns his attention back to the stove. "What kind of eggs do you want?"

"Scrambled," I say, but I'm distracted by the idea of snooping around Camp David. "Aren't we not allowed to snoop? Wouldn't it be breaking some unwritten NSA law or something?"

"I'm the President. It's my job to know everything."

I roll my eyes. "First, you don't know everything. Have aliens landed? What's in Area 51? Who _really_ shot Kennedy?" Derek glances at me with an amused smile, but says nothing. "Exactly. And even _if_ it's okay for you to look around, it's definitely not okay for me. I'm a civilian."

Derek plates our food. He's very good at ignoring me. "I'm thinking we should just start in the big meeting room over there." He points beyond the living room. We never made it that way last night.

"How do you know there's a meeting room over there?"

"Oh, I creeped around this morning." He looks so proud of himself.

I sit down at the table. "You can't _creep_ around when this is _your_ house."

Derek sits next to me and his knee touches mine. "It doesn't feel like my house. I'm not yet convinced this isn't an AirBnB."

He looks so cute as he takes a sip of coffee and then a bite of toast. He's looking around like he's wowed that this place is his and I get it. The lifestyle change must feel insane. I sit up a bit and lean across our plates and kiss him and then sit back down. Derek is staring at me when I ask, "So, the meeting room first?"

\\\\\

We unfortunately get dressed because Derek can't really just walk around in boxers all day and I can't keep wearing this robe (which Derek assured me is brand new). Most of the time he's in suits and I'm in scrubs, so it's nice to just be in normal clothes.

He takes my hand and we walk into one of the various meeting rooms. One wall is lined with bookshelves and old looking books, frayed and weathered. The other looks to have a drop-down projector, which doesn't seem to fit at all in the old-fashioned room. There's a table in the middle, big and heavy, made of probably some fancy wood like mahogany. The chairs are leather and everything in the room smells rustic.

Derek walks to the wall of books and plucks one and flips through the pages.

"Are you expecting to pull the right book to find a secret passageway?" I tease.

He laughs. "There are actually secret passages around here, but no one's told me about them yet."

"I guess that makes sense."

For a while Derek fans through the books and I keep trying to find a listening device or a camera, but to my untrained eye, it feels like we're alone. I walk around Derek and take the book from his hand and replace it on the shelf. I turn back to Derek and he's watching me. I step forward, realizing we only have a few more hours, and I place my hands on his chest. He catches my drift quickly and takes my hips, pulling him to me.

I'd like to believe we're the first couple to have sex in this meeting room. I'm sure it's not true, especially with some of the previous playboy presidents who spent time in this house. But it feels scandalous either way.

Derek takes the lead and walks me backwards until my butt is resting on the table and then he lifts me up easily and wraps my legs around his waist. I bury my hands in his hair and kiss him fervently. Within no time, Derek has my shirt off, tossed somewhere to my left. His hands slide up my stomach and over my bra, squeezing me. He kisses along my neck and I tip my head back, my hair touching the table top. I roll my hips along him to tell him, without saying the words, how much I want him.

We take little time to completely disrobe. Derek's hands are as sure as mine, removing my bra, my pants, and my underwear. I strip him bare and I take hold of him, making him hiss through his teeth, which only makes me smile. I slide down onto my knees in front of him and he braces himself on the table, his knuckles turning white from holding on so tightly.

After a while, Derek pulls me back up to my feet and kisses me deeply, pressing my hair out of my face. He turns me around to face the table and kisses along the back of my neck and over my shoulders. I shiver and hook my arm back behind his neck, holding onto him as he slides inside me. So far we've had sex and made love for sure, but this feels wholly different. I can _feel_ how much he wants me and not even in a physical sense. I arch against him and his hands slide up to my breasts. I feel him everywhere all at once.

Eventually Derek turns me back around and I lie back on the table. I love the way he's looking at me as he slides inside me again. I'm not quiet in the slightest, not afraid of who might hear me begging him to keep going. He's not quiet either and I like that he seems comfortable enough to have me how he wants me, all the while keeping in mind how I might want him.

We finally both finish, Derek first and then triggering me. Afterwards, he takes my hand and helps me sit up and he hugs me. At first it feels a little awkward, but then I settle into the hug and it feels amazing. Derek kisses the side of my head and steps back to pull his clothes back on. We share a silly look while we redress.

I suggest going for a walk because I think we won't keep any clothes on if we keep hiding away inside all day, but Derek has to take a call first. I tell him I'll be outside. The early afternoon air is cool, but the sun is bright and warm. I glance back at the house and then pull my phone out, dialing Cristina.

She picks up after just one ring. "Let me guess, you romped around the White House all night and christened every room. Or I guess re-christened every room. Every President must try to fuck their way through the White House, right?"

"I'm not at the White House."

"He took you somewhere? Where?" I'm about to answer when she interrupts. "Let me guess: Paris. "

"No."

"Rome."

"How do you think we'd get to Rome and back and have time together in less than twenty-four hours? Plus, the President can't just fly commercial. He has to use Air Force One and he can't just take Air Force One out to impress his girlfriend."

"Girlfriend?" Cristina repeats.

I feel my face warm. I'm sure the security currently watching me can see my blush. "Can you go back to listing ridiculous places instead?"

"No. Where are you?"

"Camp David," I say and my voice exactly expresses how ridiculous that sounds to me.

Cristina whistles, as if impressed. "He's fancy. What's it like? Or have you not seen any of it because you're too busy boning."

I don't deny it, but I move on. "It's dated, like no one's remodeled since Nixon or something, but it's kind of amazing. The house has all these meeting rooms and bedrooms, as if you'd have dozens of people staying. The grounds are really secluded. We're about to take a walk."

"Is that so you two can both keep your clothes on for longer than ten minutes?"

"Yes," I answer honestly.

Cristina quiet for a second and then asks, "So are you his girlfriend?"

"No. I mean, we aren't talking about it. This is our first date, technically and we're both just…spending time together. I don't want to make it into a big thing. I just want to get to know him and figure out the rest later, you know?"

"I know you're rambling," she says.

The back door opens and Derek steps out. "I have to go."

"Keep your clothes—" I hang up before she can finish that sentence.

Derek walks up to me with a grin. "Who was that?" he asks.

"Cristina."

He nods. "Was she grilling you?"

"A little bit."

"What did you say?"

I shake my head. "Nothing. Let's go for a walk."

Derek and I walk hand-in-hand, unafraid of our secrets being spilled after we leave this oasis. We head towards the tree line first. Derek tells me some more about his trip and I enjoy just walking along with him.

As we reach the trees, we turn the other direction, walking through a big field.

"I have my first Correspondent's Dinner in a few weeks."

"What's that all about anyway? I never get that dinner."

"It's a way for the press to get more access to me and my administration and it's also a roast of the president. It's supposed to make me look more human, I guess."

"Is it like the State Dinner where you have other nations' representatives attending, too?"

"No, this is just who I want to be there." He pauses for a second and then says, "And I'd like you to be there."

I stop and look up at him. "I'm not going as your date."

He shakes his head. "No, of course not. I just want you there. I also invited your mom and stepdad."

"You want me there," I repeat.

Derek releases my hand and runs his palms along my shoulders. "I do."

"Are you going to send an official invitation?"

"Of course," he says with a grin.

I begin walking ahead of him. "Well, I'll RSVP then."

Derek jogs to catch up with me and wraps his arm around my shoulders. It all feels very normal.

\\\\\

The normality ends in the late afternoon when I have to go back to my real life. The Vice President is on his way and Derek has business scheduled for the next four days. I pack my things in the bedroom, taking my time, which Derek doesn't seem to mind. He watches me from the edge of the bed. We don't talk. I glance up and each time his eyes are on me.

Once everything is back in my bag, I say, "Ready."

Derek takes my hand and pulls me gently towards him. I can still smell the scent of burning wood from our fire last night and the thought warms me. Derek looks up at me from his seated position and wraps his arms around my waist. I place my hands on his shoulders and glance down at him. "I'm glad you came out here with me, especially for my first time here." He looks away for a second and then says, "It means a lot to me." He meets my eyes again.

It's my turn to not look at him as I say, "I've loved being here with you."

When I look back at Derek, he has this look in his eyes I've seen before. The look compels me to lean down and kiss him softly. No tongue, no ravishing, just my lips pressed to his. When I pull away, he pulls me back in for another long kiss. We could keep doing this all day, but I have to go.

Derek eventually releases my hips and takes my bag before we walk downstairs. Troy is waiting out front with the car ready to go and he gives us another minute after taking my bag.

"We never talked about what we both want." Derek says. "I know this is our first date and it might feel like all of this is moving fast, but we haven't talked about any future plans."

"We have future plans," I tell him. "We have the Correspondent's Dinner."

He grins at me before turning serious again. "I mean real plans."

"Do we have to have real plans today?"

"Of course not."

"Then let's wait."

Derek nods. "Okay."

He leans down and kisses me once more. This feels like a goodbye and I'm not sure why. So I kiss him deeper, pulling myself against him. Our kisses up in the bedroom were way more PG, so I should've kissed him like this then, but all I can hope is no one is watching and judging. Derek kisses me back with ferocity and I wonder if he feels like it's a goodbye, too.

When we pull apart, he cups my cheek. "Let's do something next week when I'm back in DC."

I can't help but smile because plans mean we're both still in this. "Okay, what?"

"I don't know," he says with a laugh. "I'll figure something out."

"Okay. Good."

"Okay."

I step back from him because once again, I could do this all day. Troy steps back as Derek approaches the car and opens the backdoor for me. I put the door between us and kiss him again, briefly, before climbing into the back. Derek waits a second before shutting the door and he steps back. He says something to Troy before Troy climbs into the front seat. A second later the engine starts and we're driving away. Derek watches from the top of the driveway.

Once we're on the road, Troy asks, "Are you comfortable back there, Doctor Grey?"

"Yes."

I think a moment, wondering if my next question goes against privacy rules or something, but then decide to ask anyway. "Troy, what did the President say to you when we were leaving?"

He meets my eyes in the rearview mirror and I'm pretty sure he's smiling. "He said, 'Take care of her. She's important.'"

I smile.


	15. Future

**AN: Thank you for the very kind comments on the last part. I didn't receive a lot of feedback (which if fine), but it's always good to hear from you to know where I'm going next. I hope you like this next part. After this there are going to be some big moments and changes, so I look forward to writing those parts for you and I hope you enjoy them. I hope to hear from you!**

* * *

I drink my coffee in the morning watching the news, waiting on the President's big announcement. The pundits are bantering back and forth, speculating on what policy or action the President might be rolling out as his first big moment as President. Of course they play video footage of his inauguration, which is better known as his shooting.

The ticker at the bottom of the screen makes mention of the President's shooter and his trial, which is to begin tomorrow. I wonder if the President's cabinet and aids wanted his news to come out the day before, maybe to distract us all. Either way, the events couldn't be better planned.

Derek steps up to the press room's podium with a few papers and a hopeful look. I haven't seen him in almost a week, but we are still planning something for the next few days.

"Good morning," he begins. "I've just come back from my first weekend at Camp David and the Vice President and I have been discussing just _how_ to combat—"

My phone rings, distracting me from his speech. _911, OR 3_ , the page reads.

"I will be working closely with the UN to stop this terror," I hear Derek say and I step away reluctantly. I have to admit, I've never paid so much attention to politics in my entire life.

I spend the morning in the OR, tending to a teenager who was in a bicycle accident. Alex works with me, which is a rare treat. We're nearly never in each other's surgeries, so I soak up the time with him. I'm glad we both keep ourselves in check; I make no mention of Jo, who I've heard he's dating, and he definitely doesn't mention Derek.

After a few hours, our patient is on the road to recovery and Alex is on his way to notify the family. The OR board is clear for me until later this afternoon, and although I want to watch Derek's speech, I'd like to do that in the privacy of my own home—or at least away from the prying eyes in this hospital. I decide to take the afternoon to work on my research.

I'm not hiding the fact that I'm working on my mother's defunct diabetes trial from my mother, but I also haven't told her about it. She was pretty clear three years ago that she didn't care about the trial; she received her two Harper Averys for "more important" work and claimed "diabetes will never be cured, so why try?"

My mother's never been one to give up, so I've always believed she's felt really burned by her failure. I think that's why I haven't told her. Partially because I think I'll probably fail, too, but mostly because I think she'll be angry.

I have made some pretty radical steps in the three years I've been working on the trial. The first is finding a compound in the blood that can be found in both humans and mice who have diabetes, but not in pigs. The research has shown the opposite of what my mother hypothesized, which leads me to believe she either didn't have the means or the support years ago to go further into the research. Richard has been nothing but supportive, so everything I've needed has been handed to me.

The biggest accomplishment has been keeping the secret from my mother. That is until today.

I'm testing blood from a mouse when the door opens. The film isn't as clear as I'd like, so I'm really focusing. "Just a minute," I say to whoever just walked in. The interns have been particularly dumb lately, so I expect one of them to be hovering behind me to insert a central line or something equally easy. I take a quick note on a discrepancy in the blood and turn in my chair. My mother smiles at me and I know that smile.

"What are you doing?" she asks.

"Well," I pause. I could outright lie, but by now she knows what I'm doing. The set-up looks almost exactly how hers did. I remember seeing the pictures in the newspaper. "I'm working on a trial." She eyes me. "Your diabetes trial."

My mother walks further into the room. She looks into the cages where I have a dozen mice. "Why are you working on _my_ diabetes trial?"

I've asked myself the same question many times. I could've worked on any trial I wanted, but for some reason this one seemed the most interesting. Miranda asked me onto her fistula trial and Richard invited me onto his Alzheimer's trial, but I didn't feel like I could sink my teeth into either of those. But my mother's work fascinates me. I think it's because I can really see where she was going with it; I was able to walk her process. I feel like for the first time I actually knew my mother.

But I can't say anything sentimental like that to the woman standing before me. I have to think and act like the scientist I am. "You wrote the trial off when you weren't getting answers, which I understand because this trial is frustrating, but I think the trial has merit."

"Of course the trial has merit. I wouldn't have worked on it if it didn't."

"Right," I say, trying to ignore her condescending tone.

"I didn't write the trial off," she says.

I sit up a bit taller in my chair. I'm not often intimidated by my mother, but when it comes to her work, I am. I'm trying to give the illusion that I'm not, but I'm more intimidated than I've been in years. "You stopped working on it. You declared the trial a failure publicly."

"Yes, but I still think of what I could've done to change it."

"Okay, but you weren't working on it. No one was. I grew curious and the space was available."

"Richard knows about this?" she asks.

I hate stepping between my parents, but I can't lie. "Yes, he knew."

My mother walks over to the table and looks down at my notes. I watch her reading my words and wonder what she's thinking. Knowing my mother, she'll let me know immediately if I've made a mistake. She flips through my notebook. I've gone through five in the last three years, but of the five, this one is the most detailed and beneficial.

I can imagine my mother telling me to stop the trial. She has the right since it's her research I'm basing my findings on, but I'd hope with the developments I've made, that she'd realize there's something here. Her research isn't completely wrong; just a bit misguided (although I'd never tell her that).

"You found a way around insulin?" she asks.

"Not really." My mother glances at me. "I just found some of the mice need less of it less often."

"And how are they doing?" she asks.

I stand up and check in on cages three, four, eight, ten, eleven, and twelve. "They're all awake and active. Twelve is a little sluggish, but I worked with him yesterday so he might be tired. Eight is doing the best. He hardly ever needs medicine."

My mother checks the mice as well. "I hate to say it, because I'm not happy you've been keeping this from me, but you're doing a good job."

"Really?" It doesn't happen too often, but every now and again I need reassurance from my mother; today is one of those days.

"Do you want to walk me through your findings?" As always, my mother gives an inch, but that's all she can give.

I nod. "Sure."

We spend the next few hours going through her research and mine. It's been almost two decades since she's last looked at her work, so medicine has changed dramatically. I chalk my findings up to the advancement in medicine and my mom agrees. I ignore the jab and continue walking her through my notebooks. We walk through each of the mice and I talk her through the pigs I had a year ago.

Eventually we're interrupted by my afternoon surgery. My mother doesn't seem to be ready to leave. "Do you want to stay in here?" I ask.

She looks up from the slide I'd been looking at. "Do you mind?"

"No, not at all." I pull my keys from my pocket. "Just lock up afterwards, okay?"

"Sure." She's already turned back to the slide.

For a moment I feel like an equal to my mother. She's been the great Ellis Grey my entire life and I've just been her daughter, but today I've proved to her I've done things she wasn't capable of. I know she's proud and probably a little bit impressed, even if she can't tell me.

\\\\\

After my surgery, I go to the bar with Cristina. She lost an important patient this morning and Owen and her are on a downslope, so she needs me to be her person. Alex tags along under the guise of needing a stiff drink, but as soon as we arrive, I notice the interns sitting in the corner—among them is Jo.

Cristina goes straight for shots and I have one with her, but then I move to beer. I have an early morning tomorrow and I don't want to be hurting. Alex keeps checking out Jo from the corner of his eye and Cristina is ripping apart peanut shells and not even eating the peanuts.

"Okay," I say, realizing none of us have said anything since arriving, "we all need to stop moping."

"I have a reason to mope," Cristina says. "What's your excuse, Alex?"

"I'm _not_ moping."

"You're staring at Jo like a lost puppy. What's up?"

He takes a long sip of beer. "She started dating some plastics resident." He says plastics like it's a bad word.

"Might I remind you that you were a plastics resident?" Cristina says.

Alex shakes his head. "Yeah, well I was stupid back then."

"Go ask to buy her a drink," I suggest.

Cristina makes a noise. "Alex doesn't have enough game for that."

"It's not about game. And what the hell do you know about game?"

"I know that I have someone waiting for me at home. _That's_ game."

Alex laughs. "You have a pissed off boyfriend, ex-husband, whatever. That does not make you some know-it-all. If any of us can talk about a somewhat stable relationship, it's Mer. Which, to be honest, is fucked considering she can't even tell anyone who she's dating."

"What do I have to do with any of this?" I ask.

Cristina nods in agreement, which I think is for me, but then I realize is for Alex. "That's true. Meredith's relationship shouldn't be the gold standard between us."

"Why the hell not?" I ask.

"You're sneaking around. You can't even go on a normal date. You have to plan things out for days and there's always security. What do the security guards do when you two are feeling each other up in the back of the President mobile?" Alex asks.

"Shh," I whisper, looking around the bar.

Cristina points. "See! It's weird."

"First of all," I begin, "we don't make out in the car. And if we are kissing goodbye or something, the SSAs just look away." Cristina snorts out a laugh and I glare at her. "And second of all, we're just dating. It's nothing big right now."

"Yeah right," Alex scoffs.

I point at him. "You have no balls. Stop bitching about who Jo is or isn't dating and do something about it." Alex glares at me.

"And you," I say to Cristina. "Stop this rollercoaster with Owen. If you want to be married, be married. If you want to be just casual, then be that. You're just dragging each other down and it's exhausting to watch."

After my snit, I order another beer and we all sit quietly again. The last few months have been a whirlwind and I don't ask for it, but I need my friends to be supportive. And maybe that's my problem: that I don't ask for the support I need.

I take a sip of beer and say, "If I had a choice I'd run." Both Cristina and Alex look at me. "As soon as this started between Derek and me, we were already talking about the future and that scares me. It scares me because it's so rushed, but I'm also not sure if I want the future he has laid out. If he's lucky, he'll have eight years as President," I say quietly. "But even with four years, the pressure may be too much.

"And the problem is that I'm in this," I admit. "I can't walk away and I don't want to. I like being around him and I like the way I feel when I'm around him." I glance at Cristina, expecting her to roll her eyes at my sentiment, but she just looks down at her drink. "The whole situation is weird and I know you might not get it, but I need you both to be on my side. I'm on your sides, even with everything I just said. So can you just stop judging me and be there for me?"

Cristina finishes off her drink. "I'm not judging you."

"Yes you are."

"No," she says sincerely. "I'm just being cautious."

"You don't have to be cautious."

"We kinda do, Mer," Alex says. "You just said it yourself: you're scared. A lot can go wrong with being so public and I think Cristina and I are just worried."

I nod. "I understand that. I appreciate that. But instead of telling me how fucked my situation is, I'd rather you just be honest with me. Tell me if you're worried. That's fine. Tell me if I'm being stupid. Because I need your support." I look at each of my best friends and then back down at my drink.

"I'm falling for him," I admit.

Both Alex and Cristina look at me.

"I am and shit's about to get real if I tell him, so I need your support. Okay?"

"Okay," Alex says, followed by Cristina, "Okay."

I nod my head to the bartender and say, "Another round."

\\\\\

When I get home, I check the mail and find a heavy white envelope from the White House. I open the envelope once I get inside and flick on a light. The invitation reads:

 _The President of the United States,_

 _Derek Christopher Shepherd,_

 _would be honored with your attendance of:_

 _The Correspondent's Dinner_

 _Saturday, 30_ _th_ _of April 2016 at 6:00 PM_

I smile at the invitation and find the RSVP card. I check the box that says attending and check another box for guest. I shoot Alex a text and he responds in a minute telling me yes. I write his name in the card and slide it into the return envelope.

I pour a glass of water in the kitchen before heading into the living room to watch the news. CNN is talking about the President's plan, but not actually showing his speech. I pick up on a few keys points before my phone rings and distracts me.

 _Derek_.

"Hi."

"Hi. How are you?" he asks.

I mute the TV. "Good. I didn't get to see your speech."

"It wasn't very good," he admits with a laugh. "I have a speech-writer for a reason and today was a day I should've asked for her help."

"How's the response so far?"

"Mixed, which was to be expected. But enough about my day. How was yours?"

"Good, busy." I realize I've never mentioned my research to Derek, probably because that may open up a conversation about my mom I don't want to have, but now feels like the time. I tell him about my mother's research and how she gave up all those years ago. I keep it simple, but I talk about what the outcome could be and about my mom's response. "I expected her to be angry, but she seemed interested and sort of impressed."

I can tell Derek is happy for me. "That's amazing, Meredith. I'm glad she's supporting you."

"Me, too." I think about telling Derek more about my mom and her Alzheimer's, but now doesn't feel right, especially with what I told Alex and Cristina earlier. I don't want to ruin anything. And then I remember the fancy invitation. "I was asked to some lavish party next week. Some guy would be _honored_ if I attended."

Derek laughs. "Sorry the invitation went out so late. You were supposed to get it a few weeks ago. So, have you RSVP'd?"

"Can I just do that on the phone now?"

"Sure. Let me get a pen."

"Yes, of course I'll come. I've invited Alex."

"Good," Derek says and he doesn't sound jealous, not like he should be.

"I'll send the official RSVP tomorrow. I gotta say though, if I keep going to these dinners, I'm going to need to actually buy some fancy dresses. I had the one I wore to the State Dinner and I have one more that I can wear to this dinner, but after that I'm out."

"Well let me help with that," Derek suggests and I know he's just trying to be nice.

I very quickly say, "No. Thank you, though. It just means I have to go dress shopping."

"I know all these dinners are a lot to ask."

"No they aren't. I'm happy to be invited."

"I just wish you were going as not just my doctor."

I want to agree with him because I do. I wish I could just kiss him and no one would freak out, but that's definitely not the situation. I want to agree, but I also don't want to talk myself into exposing our relationship to the press. Neither of us are ready for that.

"Well, last time we managed to make out in the Oval, so there's always that chance."

Derek laughs. "Oh believe me, we will find some time to be alone."

"You better be paying your Secret Service Agents a lot of money to keep all these secrets."

"Oh, I am," he says in a deliciously cocky way.

We spend the better part of an hour chatting. I used to ask him how he had time to be talking to me for an hour or more, but I don't any longer. I just assume that the President is always busy and he is, but Derek also needs time to not be thinking about the future of our country. Normally a President would take the evenings to be with his wife and children, but since Derek is technically single, a lot of the media and pundits sort of expect him to just be working all the time. Derek uses his down time to talk to me and his family, to read, to dream about the days he used to be able to fish whenever he wanted without guards all around him. He says things like this and I'm reminded why I just can't go public with him yet.

Eventually I grow tired and Derek has a few things to do before going to sleep. We do plan to meet up in two days for a date. I suggested he come to my house because it's easier and I know Alex will be working. Derek promises to cook.

We say goodnight and once again I'm thinking of what I told Alex and Cristina. I am falling for Derek and I could tell him that, but I want to wait. I want to tell him in person and at the right time. I'll tell him when I'm ready to confront our future.


	16. Now

**AN: Thank you all for the love and feedback on the last chapter! I received so many messages from people who have been lurking and reading, but never commented before and those always make me feel so good. Of course I appreciate all of you so much. I hope you like this next part!**

* * *

 **DEREK**

I spend the morning in meetings before everyone breaks at 2pm for the Correspondent's Dinner. I chose an earlier time than usual, or so I've been told, because my mom and sisters are due to arrive right after two and I want to spend as much time with them as just Derek before I have to become the President again.

My family is in town only two days, flying back on Monday. My mom and two older sisters, Kate and Nancy, have flown in from Maine while Liz has come from Boston and Amelia from New York. I wanted to pick them all up at the airport, but that idea was nixed almost immediately. I sent Grant to pick them up because they all seem to like him. Plus I have noticed Lizzie looking his way and after her divorce last year, it might be time for her to start looking again.

I wanted to invite all my nieces and nephews and my brothers-in-law; I haven't seen them in months. But once again I was told, "It's not a good idea." For being the _leader_ of the free world, it seems interesting that I can't even make my own decisions.

My phone rings and my receptionist, Sophie, says, "Mr. President, your family is here."

"Excellent."

I walk over to the door and practically throw it open. My mom is in my arms first, hugging me tightly. I haven't seen her in almost two months, since the State Dinner. "You look tired," she says almost immediately.

"Thanks Mom," I respond sarcastically and pull back just enough to look at her. "Are you doing okay?"

She pats my cheek. "Yes. Stop worrying about me."

"He's been worrying about you since he was fifteen," Kate says before hugging me. "I saw your speech last night. Very good. Have you finally allowed that speech writer to earn his salary?"

" _Her_ salary," I correct. "How's Joe and the kids?"

Kate smiles. "Good. They wish they were here."

I feel badly, but they all know the situation. "Me, too."

I hug Nancy next, then Liz and finally Amelia. Amelia holds onto me for a long time before letting go. "So are we really staying _here_?" she asks.

When they came for the State Dinner, with the Prime Minister, his family, and his people, we didn't have room in the White House for my family, so they stayed in one of the off-site houses. The place is across the street and really beautiful, but it did feel like they were miles away. The one place I put my foot down was where my family would be staying. "Yes. I already have the rooms squared away. You'll all be sharing except Mom." I smile at my mom. "You're in the Lincoln bedroom since he's your favorite."

The next hour, I spend my time giving my family a tour. They've been here before, but everything was so rushed last time and I barely knew the place. I lead them into the Oval Office and then through the various studies and meeting rooms. We stay clear of the main entertaining space since there are people everywhere, but I do take them to my private residence and the many guest bedrooms.

By the end of the tour, the hair and makeup people have arrived to treat my mom and sisters to a bit of pampering and I, too, have to get ready. I give them all a quick goodbye, but they're all too excited and busy looking at the dresses I gladly bought for them. None of my sisters are struggling and neither is my mom, but I like being able to do something for them once and a while.

I head into my residence and take a long shower. When I step out, I notice my tux has been laid across the bed. Long ago I stopped being uncomfortable with the fact that people just walk into my room when they please, especially when I'm in the shower.

By 5:30pm, I'm ready to go. I adjust my black bow tie once more and make sure I don't have lint on me or scuffs on my shoes. I leave the residence and walk down the hallway. The voices from the room my family is getting ready in carries into the hallway. I give the door a quick three knocks. My mom opens the door is a beautiful black gown. "Derek, you look so handsome."

I give her a kiss on the cheek. "You're beautiful. The perfect date for the night."

I greet my sisters, who are each wearing a different color, and are just radiating. We all head downstairs as the guests begin taking to the red carpet. I feel lucky that I don't have to walk the red carpet.

A minute before six, my press secretary asks my mom and sisters to take their seat within the dining room, a gorgeously ornate ballroom facing the South Lawn. I stand off to the side while the camera crew gets ready. I have my big entrance and then I'm expected to sit while comedians roast me. After the roast, I'll say a few words and the evening will start with dinner, dancing, and more photos than I can even imagine.

"Mr. President," Lily, my press secretary, says. "They're ready for you."

\\\\\

I find Meredith in the crowd as soon as I sit down. She's seated at a table near my family, towards the front of the crowd, with Alex and her parents by her side. Her eyes meet mine and I give her a warm smile, which she returns. I can't see what she's wearing, but she looks beautiful.

During my roast, which is mostly about me getting shot, I count the minutes until I can be near her. I give my speech, which is full of jokes people actually laugh at (thanks to my speech writer), and I welcome everyone to eat, drink, and be merry. After dinner I take some time to greet my most distinguished guests while keeping an eye on Meredith, who each time I glance over at, is laughing with the people at her table.

Eventually the music starts and people take to the dance floor. After two quicker songs, I'm told something slower is about to play and I'm expected to dance with my mom. I know many pundits make quips about how my mom is replacing all the duties of a First Lady, but I ignore their sneers. I would love to bring Meredith out onto the dance floor for the first dance to prove them all wrong.

My mom looks happy as we dance, first alone and then couples are invited to join us.

"I still can't believe this is your life," she says.

I laugh and I see the flashbulbs of a camera go off. "I can't believe it either."

"Are you happy?" she asks, leaning back to look me in the eye.

I so want to tell my mom about Meredith. I want to tell everyone, but especially my mom. I know she's been worried for years, telling me that I can't always put work first. But I've never listened to her and work has always come first. I know she wasn't a fan of my longtime college girlfriend, but she would've sucked it up if she knew marrying Addison would've made me happy. But I know I never would've been happy with her.

That's why I want to tell my mom about Meredith; because she does make me happy. "Yes, I'm happy."

After I dance with my mom, I dance with Liz and then Kate. Nancy and Amelia are nowhere to be found.

In a moment of peace, I look across the ballroom and see Meredith standing on her own. She doesn't notice me. She's busy looking up at the ornate ceiling, holding a glass of wine in her hand. I look her over slowly and take in her dark green dress and the way it settles around her narrow hips. The neckline is low and flattering, which I'm sure has drawn in one or two glances her way. Her hair is pulled back, showing off her beautiful face. She's stunning.

I have no press secretary at my side. No agents. No one who might think this is a bad idea. So instead of stopping myself, I cross the room. Meredith meets my eyes when I'm just a few feet from her. I hold out my hand. "Will you dance with me?"

For a second it seems like she might be the one to tell me no, this is a mistake, but then she gives me a small smile. "Yes."

I let her walk in front of me and take her hand once we're on the dance floor. I place my hands carefully on her, trying to show her respect and act like I haven't seen what's under her dress. I try not to pay attention to the people around us, but I do see a few flashbulbs burst. No one stops the photographers because if they did, it would raise some eyebrows. I try to keep my eyes away from staring at her for too long, but she's beautiful and it feels bad to treat her like just anyone else.

The song changes and instead of letting her go, we continue to dance.

 _Settle down with me_

 _Cover me up_

 _Cuddle me in_

"You look beautiful," I say very quietly, keeping my eye on the photographers.

Meredith keeps her eyes trained away as well. "Thank you. I didn't tell you last time, but I like you in a tux."

I smile just a bit before regaining composure. "This does feel like déjà vu, doesn't it?"

She nods. "The music didn't feel like it was swelling so much last time. I'm waiting for it to start to rain and for you to kiss me, professing you won't go off to war or something."

I can't help but laugh. "Have you been watching some romantic movies, Doctor Grey?"

"I might've lost the remote the other night. I was too lazy to get up."

"Sure," I say skeptically.

I meet her eyes and she's smiling at me.

 _Kiss me like you wanna be loved_

 _You wanna be loved_

 _You wanna be loved_

 _This feels like falling in love_

 _Falling in love_

 _We're falling in love_

We continue dancing quietly, but I can feel my heart hammering in my chest and I wonder if she can feel it. We're closer than we should be, but I keep telling myself it's nothing. It's obviously not nothing, but I hope if I keep thinking that way, maybe my face won't register how deeply I'm falling for her.

I could pretend I'm not in love, but I am. I've been in love with her since I first met her. I know she's scared and I am too—of hurting her—but that doesn't mean I love her any less.

The song ends and we step back from each other. While everyone is distracted, I lean in close and whisper, "Meet me in the Oval."

A few minutes later, I'm pulled aside to speak to a few of my biggest contributors and I watch Meredith slip from the room. I try to rush the conversation, but act like I'm _not_ rushing the conversation. I find a window in time under the guide of grabbing information for my backers and I excuse myself to the Oval. I smile and nod my head while I leave the ballroom and begin walking down the hallway. Grant is at my side.

"Doctor Grey was almost stopped by the extra agents we hired for tonight. I was able to stop them, though, so the coast is clear. You don't have long," he says pointedly. A.K.A. don't have sex.

"I just need a few minutes."

Grant lifts his eyebrow. As if to say, _Oh really_.

"Not for _that_ ," I say with a frown. "I just want a minute alone with her." I can tell Grant is smiling in his mind. "Get your head out of the gutter, Tom."

"Yes sir," he says with a smile.

I reach my private study and walk through, shutting the doors behind me, and into the Oval Office. Meredith is sitting behind my desk, her hands running along the heavy wooden table top. "This wood is so soft. Like softer than my skin, soft."

I slide my hands into my pockets and lean against the bookshelves. "I disagree there."

Meredith smirks at me. "Well, you would know."

We gaze at each other across the room. I'm wasting time, but I can't seem to move. She stops moving her hands and slides them into her lap. My heart is beating loudly again. "Come here," I tell her.

Meredith stands slowly and the beads on her dress catch the light of the dim desk lamp. She gathers part of her dress in her hands while she walks toward me. She keeps her eyes on the floor until she's standing right in front of me. I remove my one hand from my pocket and I take her chin between my thumb and forefinger, lifting her face to mine. I lean down and kiss her.

We stay out of the field-of-view of the ceiling camera and kiss slowly, much differently than the last time we were in this room. Her fingers move along my tux, taking my lapels in her hands. I wrap both my arms around her back, not wasting another second with her.

We kiss for a long time and the entire time I think about what it would be like to see her first thing in the morning again. To have her wake up beside me. I want that. I pull back and whisper, "Stay here tonight."

Meredith's face changes from lustful to concerned. "You know I can't."

"You can," I disagree. "No one would know."

"It's too risky."

"It's not."

"Your family is staying here, right?"

I nod. "Yes, but—"

"Then I can't." She leans in to kiss me lightly and then says, "I should get back."

Meredith slips from my arms and walks towards the door.

"I love you."

She stops.

"I didn't mean to…shout it at you," I say as soon as I realize I basically did shout at her. "I meant to say it, just not yell it."

Meredith looks at me over her shoulder. "Derek, I—"

"No. You don't have to say anything." I walk towards her and she turns to fully face me. "I'm not telling you because you owe me anything. You don't have to say it back. I just thought you should know." I pause before saying again, "I love you." As soon as I say it I begin to grin like an idiot.

"You barely know me," she says.

I reach out to touch her cheek. I slide my thumb along her soft skin. "I know you."

"Derek, you shouldn't—"

"You don't have to say anything," I say again. "I just wanted to say it."

She looks away from me and for a second I allow my smile to disappear. Of course I can't make her say it back and I don't expect her to say it, but I do want to hear it. I feel selfish just thinking that. We've only known each other for three months and more than half that time we were merely acquaintances. It's fast, I know that, but I also know that I haven't felt this way for anyone since college. No, actually, I've never felt this way. My previous relationship—

"I love you, too," she says.

I look down at Meredith and she's smiling up at me. Seconds later, we're kissing beneath the eye in the sky and I don't even care. I can feel Meredith smiling against my lips as she pushes me backwards and into the wall. My hands are everywhere and I so want to completely remove her dress, but then we're interrupted.

A harsh, quick knock on the door startles us apart. "Mr. President," Grant says on the other side of the door and from his tone, I know someone is coming.

I straighten my bowtie while Meredith fixes her dress. "How do I look?" she asks.

"Beautiful."

Her eyes narrow. "That's not what I meant."

I reach out and fix a strand of hair. "Now you're perfect."

The door opens a second later with Grant and my mother in the doorway. "Derek – Oh, Doctor Grey!" My mom walks into the room with a grin on her face. I give Grant a look. "You look so beautiful," she says.

Meredith smiles at my mom. "You need to stop complimenting me. It'll go straight to my head."

My mom turns to me. "Derek, I've found Nancy, so you need to dance with her. If you can spare him, of course," she says to Meredith.

Immediately Meredith turns red. "O-of course. No, I mean, he's all yours. We were just…talking. About the shooting." Meredith gives me a slightly panicked look and I cover my grin with my hand. "He's doing well. Really well. It's my job."

My mom nods slowly. "Well of course. Make sure to come by the table. I know Amelia is dying to see you. If she ever shows up again…" My mom walks to my side and threads her arm through mine. I glance back at Meredith as we walk from the room and give her a little wink. As soon as we're in the hallway my mom says, "I feel like you're a teenager again and you're sneaking girls into your bedroom."

I'm not at all surprised that my mom knows. "That wasn't my bedroom."

"True. So…Doctor Grey…" she says.

I can't help but smile.

My mom laughs and shakes her head. "I knew it."

"Yeah yeah, you have a sixth sense for these things."

"I do. I knew day one."

"Mom, I was bleeding from my chest. You did _not_ know day one."

She looks very pleased with herself. "Maybe you were too busy nearly dying to notice, but then again, I've always been more observant than you."

I sigh because there's no use fighting. "Yes mother."

\\\\\

The rest of the event goes smoothly and as the night comes to a close, I make sure to say goodbye to everyone I can. My family heads upstairs, with Amelia in tow, and I can't help but notice how rumpled she and Alex look. Normally I would find my sister's reckless behavior to be annoying, but I'm feeling too good to even worry about her.

I smile at everyone as I say goodbye and I'm not doing it just to be a good President. I am elated. I try to keep my eyes on the guest in front of me at all times, but I keep glancing across the room to find Meredith. She spent the rest of the evening with my sisters and now she's chatting with Alex. She smacks his arm and he looks defensive and then they're both smiling. I wonder if Meredith's already gotten the scoop from him on Amelia. Honestly, I don't want to know.

Eventually I have to say goodbye to Ellis Grey and Richard Weber, who are closely followed by Meredith and Alex. I didn't have a lot of time with the senior doctors, so I spend a few extra minutes with them.

"I'm so glad you both came," I say after shaking their hands.

Richard smiles. "We're honored to have been invited."

"Yes. It's a real treat to be at the White House. It's nothing like I had imagined."

I nod because I often feel that way. "Well I'm glad you've made it back to the White House again."

Ellis gives me a strange look and glances at Richard. "Again?" she asks him. "We've never been to the White House before," she says with a laugh.

Richard gives me a tight-lipped smile. "We're old and forgetful," he says and wraps his arm around Ellis's shoulder. "It was good to see you Mr. President."

I shake both their hands again. "I'll see you both soon."

"Have a good night," Ellis says and I hear her quietly say something to Richard, but I don't pick up on her actual words.

I say goodnight to Alex, trying not to seem like I'm rushing him off, before I can finally say goodnight to Meredith again. For a moment, we're pretty much alone. I smile at her. "So, my offer from before still stands."

"What offer?" she asks.

"Stay the night."

Meredith glances around us, but I've been careful. No one is around. "I shouldn't."

"You should," I press.

"How are you going to sneak me into your bedroom?"

"I have a very good team. And a very discreet team."

"This feels wrong."

"Why?"

"Because it feels like people are working to get the President laid."

I laugh. "What's wrong with that?"

Meredith shoots me a look.

"Look, it's not as hard as you think. And in the morning, someone will drive you to your house to change and then you can go to work like normal and I'll go to work like normal."

"Your work is not normal."

I wait for a second and then say, "What do you say?"

She glances over her shoulder, which to be honest seems shadier than her stepping onto an elevator to go up to my personal quarters. But I don't care because she says, "Okay."

I suppress my big smile. "Grant will make sure you get upstairs okay. I'll see you soon. Don't do too much peeking around."

"I make no promises."

\\\\\

It's late and we both should be sleeping, but Meredith and I are awake. She's curled on her side and I'm her big spoon. I'm tired and should go to sleep, but I'm not ready yet. We don't talk, but I know Meredith is awake. She keeps running her fingers along my forearm and over my hand. She'll thread her fingers through mine for a minute before touching my arm again. My eyes keep fluttering closed because I'm so relaxed.

Meredith shifts in my arms so she can meet my eyes. I reach up and swipe the hair from her face. "You're so beautiful," I tell her.

She smiles and turns to kiss my palm. Her eyes seem heavy, too. "We should talk."

My stomach turns into a knot. "About what?" I ask, suddenly not at all tired.

Meredith reaches down and takes my other hand in hers, drawing lines along my palm. "About us."

I can tell she's nervous. I kiss her shoulder. "Do you mean our future?"

She meets my eyes again. "If you wanted to."

"I do. I think we should."

"I don't want to go public tomorrow," she tells me.

"Me neither."

"But I do want to consider it."

"Eventually," we both say at once.

We share a smile. I lean down and kiss her slowly. Meredith lies back against the mattress and I know we're not going to go to sleep for a while.

I know she's scared about her life turning into a big circus. I know she doesn't want to be in the public eye. But the fact that Meredith is even open to discussing what the future may hold means a lot. We'll talk about it. We'll weigh our options. And we'll decide when would be a good time, but it doesn't have to be right now.


	17. Public

**AN: First, of course, thank you for the wonderful comments on the last part. I love reading your feedback! Second, sorry this didn't come out earlier in the week. I tried for Wednesday, but I got a little stuck writing. Luckily I found where I wanted to go. And third, please ignore any liberties in realism I took here. I don't really have much to go on since every modern President has been married upon entering office (which really should just be a tagline for this story).**

 **I can't wait to hear from you. Enjoy!**

* * *

A phone rings and wakes me up. I can't tell what time it is, but it's early and the room is pitch-black. I don't think the sun is up yet. I roll out of Derek arms as he reaches for the phone and I pull a pillow over my head. I vow to never stay here again. The phone is probably always ringing. I'm used to a quiet house and from what I can tell the White House is never quiet.

"Hello?" Derek speaks into the phone. A few seconds tick by before he says anything else. "How?" he asks and sits up.

I know I'm about to be kicked out and I'm already grumpy about it. I'm not mad at Derek, but I'm mad that I'm going to have to go all the way home and I probably won't be able to fall back asleep. I'm going to need a lot of coffee to make it through today.

Derek places his one hand on my hip which lessens my anger, but not by much. "When are they releasing?" Another pause. "And it's definitely the two of us. Meredith can't be mistaken for someone else?"

Now this gets my attention. I pull the pillow from over my head and realize Derek's turned on a bedside lamp. I look at him and he's worried. He squeezes my hip and all at once I realize someone knows something about us. I sit up in bed.

"Okay. Get everyone together and we'll be right there." Pause. "Yes, she's going to be there. This involves her." He gives me an apologetic look. "Fifteen minutes then."

Derek hangs up the phone and I hang on his every word. "There were two photos taken of us last night that are compromising."

"From the Oval?"

He shakes his head. "No. Us dancing. I don't have a lot of details, but apparently the two gossip rags who have the images will be going live at eight and we need to figure out what to do."

"Can't you stop them?"

"No. Freedom of press. As long as they're not lude or obscene, they can run them."

I run my hand through my hair because I can already feel my hands shaking. "So now what?"

"We're going to sit down with my team and hear our options. We can then decide what next step to take." Derek slides his arm around my back, taking a firm grip on my opposite hip. "Don't worry," he says and presses a kiss to the top of my head. "We'll figure this out."

We get dressed quickly and I barely have enough time to brush my teeth and hair before we're to leave. My dress from the night before is hung up on the back of the door, which I assume Derek did. But then I remember that dress was the only thing I had to wear when I walked in the doors last night. I ask Derek where the jeans and sweater I'm wearing now came from and he says, "I'm sure someone was sent out last night to buy you clothes." I'm not sure what I think about that.

We walk down a long hallway, neither of us saying anything and not touching. For me, it feels like everything is about to end.

When we walk into the room, everyone at the table stands. People are wearing suits, probably expecting to just start their days after this meeting. The clock on the wall says it's just after five in the morning and I have no idea how long this will take. I'm expected at work by seven.

Derek takes a seat at the head of the table. He's wearing casual clothes—just a button-up and jeans. I'm assuming he'll be changing before his day officially starts. Grant pulls out a chair to Derek's left and nods to me. I sit down and look around the table. A few staff members I recognize, like Grant and Troy, the Vice President, Lily—the press secretary, and Derek's Chief of Staff. There's at least a half dozen more individuals I don't know, which feels more embarrassing than I thought possible when discussing my sex life.

"So," Derek starts, "let's see these pictures." He glances at me.

Lily stands and hands Derek the two photos. He looks at them first and I sit there in suspense. He hands me the first one while he reviews the second. In the first shot, I'm looking up at Derek while we're dancing. We're dancing much closer than I thought last night; last night it felt like we were miles apart. Derek has my hand clutched in his and our intertwined hands are pressed to his chest, just above his heart. We're smiling at one another and if anyone showed me this picture of two strangers, I would swear they were a couple.

I set the photo down and am handed the next one. This one isn't as bad. Derek is laughing in this photo and I'm smiling, but my eyes are diverted. It looks like I'm trying _not_ to look at him, like I'm trying way too hard. We're still close, clearly engaged in one another. I set the photo down.

I glance at Derek and he's looking at me. He looks away. "What are the details about the release?"

Derek's Chief of Staff clears his throat. For the life of me, I can't remember his name. "The first image was obtained by US Weekly. They have plans to release it in a special issue on Tuesday. They're replacing their cover image with this one, but they do also plan to release the image at eight a.m. for their online subscribers, which no doubt means it'll be everywhere by noon.

"As for the other, TMZ bought the picture."

"Who is the photographer?"

"We're trying to figure that out. However TMZ has strict rules about releasing that information. They did, very boldly, announce on their Twitter that, and I quote, 'We've just bought the biggest news story in the world for only five million. Wait until eight EST tomorrow.'"

"Five million?" I gasp out loud. Everyone looks at me. "It just sounds like a lot."

The Chief of Staff nods. "It is and it isn't. These news agents will get a lot of revenue from this one photograph. They will bring in at least tens of millions. US Weekly could hit nine figures. Who knows?"

"So we have three hours then to figure out what to do," Lily says.

"What are our options?"

My stomach cartwheels. I'm relieved to hear Derek say "our options," but it doesn't change the fact that the whole conversation feels like a nail in the coffin.

"The first," Lily begins, "is for us to ignore the images all together."

"But that could be problematic," the Chief of Staff says. "The rumor mill won't be tamed, not by a story this big. Every single move either of you make will be tracked, no doubt. Eventually they'll find something."

"Which means our second option may be better. We come out with a statement. We tell everyone the photos aren't what you think. You're close friends. We could play that for a long while and eventually, pretend the friendship turned into a romantic relationship."

"How long would we have to play the friend card?" Derek asks.

Lily shrugs, which is not at all helpful. "I'd say a year." She looks around the table and many people are nodding.

Derek shakes his head no. "Next option."

"You end it," the Chief of Staff says and he looks directly at me. I suddenly feel very small.

"That's the plan?" Derek asks.

"It's not ideal," Lily says.

Derek shakes his head. "It's not an option. What else?"

"You admit everything," Lily says.

Everyone is quiet for a long time. I can tell people are weighing the options, deciding what would make the most sense. I hate that complete strangers are trying to decide how to proceed with my relationship. Derek isn't looking at me. No one is looking at each other. And then Lily looks up and meets me eyes. She gives me a small, apologetic smile. I'm the one holding us back from going public, so I ask, "What would going public mean? In detail, what would the steps be?"

Derek looks at me.

"Well, first we'd let the images run for a few hours and get a feel for the public response. If the attitude is generally favorable, we'll schedule a sit down interview with Barbara Walters or Katie Couric. Then, we'll make the rounds on daytime TV—morning shows, Ellen DeGeneres. After that, we'll coordinate schedules so you're here for certain events. And eventually, we'll have to discuss the future. You'll need to eventually move into the White House, but I think you should be engaged first. You know the Bible Belt will hate you if you're not married before living together," she says to Derek.

He nods. "I don't even know if we can get away with her living here unless we're married."

"So she'll live in one of the other houses. It'll be easier for you to see one another."

"I can't live at home?" I ask.

"No," the Chief of Staff says. "There will be too many paparazzi."

I turn to Derek. "What about Alex?"

"Who's Alex?" Lily asks.

"Meredith's roommate." He looks at me. "He'll have to decide what to do."

"You'll have to seriously consider your future. I'm not sure how long we can play the phase 'the President's girlfriend' before it turns into something salacious," Lily says.

"Turns into something salacious? It's going to be salacious from the beginning."

"Maybe not," the Vice President chimes in. "We'll have to spin it right."

I look at Derek. "This is overwhelming," I say to him. But he's engrossed in the conversation. His eyes dart back and forth like he's watching a tennis match. He is trying to keep up, but I don't know why he's trying. It's all ridiculous. "Derek," I say a little louder, but everyone else is so much louder.

"It won't work. I think we should wait," the Chief of Staff says. "Who knows how long this will last."

"It's not about that," Lily chimes in. "We have to handle it right from the beginning."

"What's _right_?" someone I don't know asks.

"Derek," I say louder still.

"What if we—" Derek begins, affectively shutting everyone up.

"Derek!" I basically yell.

He stops speaking and everyone looks at me. A minute ago I felt like a wallflower; I felt like some child everyone had to make decisions for. But now I feel like I'm in command of my own OR and I will not let people make decisions for me—for us. "I don't want anyone making any decisions on our behalf," I say to him first. I turn to the rest of the people in the room. "Thank you for giving us our options, but to be perfectly honest, this isn't any of your business."

I glance at Lily and she gives me another small smile. "What happens next is only to be decided by Derek and me and I'd appreciate if everyone stops talking _about_ me and rather _to_ me. But not right now." I turn back to Derek. "Can we have a minute alone?"

Derek nods and stands, causing everyone else to stand. "Meredith's right. Can we have the room?" And just like that, we're alone.

Immediately Derek sits back down and begins apologizing. "I'm sorry I let them have the run of the room. I got caught up in the politics."

"I know. I understand. You have to think about your career and I get that, but I refuse to have some Chief of Staff I don't even know the name of glaring at me and deciding what's best for us."

"Alan. His name is Alan Best."

I nod. "Great. Well Alan Best is the worst."

Derek laughs. "He's definitely insensitive."

The room goes quiet as I think we both settle into our thoughts. Derek flat out said waiting a year to make an announcement and breaking up are a hard no, which really only leaves us with making the announcement now. And then interviews and events and moving. It's a lot. It's a lot for a six week relationship. It's crazy.

Derek reaches across the table and covers my hand with his. "What are you thinking?"

I take a deep breath and release it. "We only have one option, right?"

He shakes his head. "No, we have all the options."

"But you said no to—"

"I was wrong to speak on your behalf," he interrupts. "You have whichever option you want."

The problem is, it's been about me from the beginning. Derek always goes with what I want and as much as I like sneaking around with him, it must be difficult for him. Trying to make time for me has been hard and unless we have a big event, where we pretend to just be friends, or we go away for a night to Camp David, it's almost impossible to make this work. I find it hard and I'm not the one balancing a schedule like his.

I shake my head. "What do you want?"

Derek gives me a confused look. "Isn't it obvious?"

"Tell me."

He reaches forward and tucks my hair behind my ears. "I would tell everyone right now if it were alright with you. I know it's not going to be easy, especially for you because you didn't sign up for this, but I would tell everyone before those images released if I could."

"Being here sort of means I did sign up for this."

He gives me a half smile. "You signed up for me, not the media."

"That's true," I admit.

"I wish we could take more time and decide if all the backlash is really worth it, but we don't have more than a couple of hours." Derek's quiet for a second and then asks, "What are you most afraid of happening?"

The list of what's keeping me from saying yes is long, but I do know the most important point. "I won't sacrifice my job and how far I've come. I can't really pinpoint how going public might affect my job, but if anything holds me back, I don't think I can say yes."

Derek nods. "I think a lot about your job and how going public could affect it. Of course my mind immediately goes to someone trying to go through you to get to me and a hospital is public property, so it's possible."

"I don't worry about that."

"No? Then what does worry you?"

"I just don't want anyone to believe I'm just the girlfriend of the President. I don't want any of my patients—or residents or interns—to believe I'm less capable than I am."

"I hope at this point you've proven yourself to them."

"I just hate that I worry about proving myself again. I lived those days as an intern and I've paid my dues."

"So besides work, what else has you worried?"

My next worry can be equated to a couple signing a pre-nuptial agreement before they get married; I worry that if we break up, it'll cause chaos for both of us. I don't want to admit it to Derek, though, because I don't want to seem like I'm pessimistic about our relationship.

Derek leans closer to me. "I can tell you're thinking hard about something."

That makes me smile. I release it slowly. "I don't want to admit this one."

"I think I know what you're going to say because I think about it a lot."

"What's yours?" I ask.

He's slow to answer and then finally, "What if we break up?"

I nod, feeling relieved that he's admitted it. "Is it awful that we're thinking that way?"

"No, I don't think so. I think everyone wonders how their life would change if they ended their relationship. We just have the added stress of having to admit it to the world. But is that any reason to not give it a try?"

I know he's right. So I push onto my next concern. "I really have to move out? And we have to wait until we're married to live together? _And_ we have to basically start making plans for marriage now? Are you prepared for any of that?"

"No, honestly, I'm not. But I do know I love you and I'm ready to start having these conversations."

"Derek, we've only known each other for less than four months."

"Yes, but my parents got married after only two months."

"That was a different time," I argue. "Do you even know if you want to marry me? Because I don't know if I want to marry you and I don't even know _how_ to figure that out."

Derek's thinking again. "Okay. Let's say we just ignore all that for now."

"How?"

"Because it's no one's goddamn business."

"But Lily said—"

"I don't care," he interrupts. "We could decide in two months to get engaged or two years. We could decide to never get married. I don't want to worry about any of that right now."

"But we have to. If this goes badly, Derek, that's it. Four years and they're voting someone else in."

"I don't care," he says again.

I'm officially frustrated because for months I held myself back from him because these conversations scared me. I knew we'd have to have them and now he's acting like whatever we decide in the next two hours won't affect us both for a long time. "Of course you care. No President wants just one term."

"No, you don't understand. Of course I'd want more than one term, but what difference does it make? If I'm not voted for a second term because I pissed off the people who believe you have to be married before you live with someone, then I don't want to represent this country. I'm choosing to wing it and let the chips fall where they may." Derek gives me a heartbreaking smile. "What's four more years if I'm miserable because we couldn't stay together? Or worse, we didn't even try?"

My hear hammers in my chest. "You can't say stuff like that," I say quietly.

"Why not?"

"Because you'll make me change my mind."

Derek leans in and kisses me softly. I slide my arm around his shoulders and his hands rest on my hips. I have a lot to worry about, but having Derek at my side is nothing to worry about.

We pull apart and I say, "Bring your team back in."

Derek keeps glancing my way as his team reassembles. I now have control of the room and from everyone's stares in my direction, it seems like they all know it. I look over at Derek and he smiles at me once again. I give him a nod.

"We've, uh, made a decision," Derek says before motioning to me. "Meredith?"

I guess I might look back on this moment with regret or a bit of wise panic. But even if everything blows up in our faces, I think the real sin would be not trying. In my thirty-plus years, I've never loved anyone before, not including my family and friends. I've never dreamt about living with a man and being married to him. I still don't really dream of any of that, but the fact of the matter is, Derek is who I want and if it costs me my privacy, then I'll give it away.

I clear my throat and say, "We're going public."


	18. Definitely

**AN: Surprise! An update less than a week later. I've been in a writing fury, so I'm publishing this part today. I received such incredible feedback on the last part and I want to thank you all so much. I've listed the usernames of all those who commented and you can find your name below (after the update). If this is something you like, I'll do it for each part.**

 **I'm excited to hear your thoughts on this next part. I'm going to start writing chapter 19 today and will hopefully have that to you soon. Thank you again and please leave me some feedback. xo**

* * *

One hour later, Derek and I are sitting in his private office with little privacy. Members of his team keep coming and going, adding bits of insight and to the growing list of concerns everyone seems to have. Each time someone walks in, we halt our conversation, but at this point I'm happy for each interruption. Hammering out the details of my move and the complete shift in my lifestyle is exhausting.

When Alan leaves the room for the third time, Derek turns his attention back to me. "You're going to have to tell Alex today."

I nod. "I know. I already text him and told him to call when he has time. I know he has an early surgery."

"We should also tell our families. They're going to be dragged into this."

I hadn't given much thought to my mom and stepdad being included in my soon-to-be public life, but as Derek says it, it seems inevitable that they will be dragged through the trenches. It's probably only a matter of time before my mom's condition becomes public news. It's exactly what she doesn't want and I don't think I can stop her secrets from being revealed.

"Meredith?" Derek asks.

"What?"

"I was asking you what you thought about having dinner with my family tonight since they're all in town? Where did you just go?"

I unfold my legs from underneath myself and set down the paperwork I was pretending to read through. Alan and Lily handed me a nondisclosure agreement almost immediately after agreeing to go public. I can't help but think they'd both already had it written.

I meet Derek's eyes and he's concerned. I'm concerned. I run my hands along my jeans. "You should know some stuff," I say vaguely. "Before you decide to go all in."

"Meredith, you don't have to tell me anything."

"But I do. There's things you don't know, and—"

"I know everything, Meredith," he interrupts.

I shake my head. "No, you gave me my folder. You said you didn't read it."

"I didn't," he says before setting down his own papers and leaning back in his chair. I'm relieved to hear it. Until he says, "But once we started dating, I needed to know."

I feel like I've been kicked in the stomach. "You needed to know. Why then?"

"Because, I figured this would happen at some point and I needed to be well-informed."

"Well-informed," I repeat. I stand up from my seat and begin to pace the room. "And you didn't think to come to me? You didn't think about asking me to tell you?"

Derek nods. "I did, but I wasn't sure if you wanted to talk about it." He sighs. "I'm so sorry about your mom."

"I've been dreading the moment I would have to tell you for weeks and you just...you just know and all that anguish could've been nothing."

He stands and stops me from pacing by placing his hands on my upper arms. "I'm sorry. I should've told you that I knew, but again, I didn't want to discuss it if you weren't ready. I wanted you to find the right time, not have me pushing you into it."

I shake his hands from me because I can't think when he's touching me. "It wasn't your right to read my folder, especially after you said you wouldn't."

"I have a folder you can read about me if you want. Even up the score." He gives me a smirk.

"I'd rather give you the chance to tell me yourself." I am so livid and all I want to do is run from this room. But I'm not sure I'd get very far before being stopped. I begin pacing again.

Derek sighs and runs a hand over his mouth. "I am sorry. I thought I was doing something good for you." He steps into my path and I stop short. He finds my eyes and I can tell he is sorry. "I'm happy to tell you about the things I'd rather keep secret and you can tell me your things."

"You already know them," I say bitterly.

"But not from you. I read what a piece of paper said, not the real details."

I cross my arms over my chest. I could stay mad if I wanted, but there's so much going on today and I can't deal with this, too. I decide to tuck my anger away for a while and focus on my mom. "How fast do you think my mom's Alzheimer's becomes public?"

Derek sighs. "A few days."

"Well, I need to make a call then." I slide my phone from my back pocket.

"What are you going to tell her?"

I find her number in my recent calls. "The truth."

It's still early, so I'm not sure my mom will be up, but after the second ring, she answers. "Well this is an early call."

I look across the room and realize Derek's walked from the room, presumably into the Oval. He's giving me some space. I have to say, telling my mom her biggest secret is about to be exposed is much easier over the phone. "Morning, Mom."

I hear her shuffling and I assume getting out of bed. "Good morning, although I have a feeling it's about to be a bad morning. Why are you calling so early?"

I sit down in the chair Derek had been sitting in and start with the easier stuff. "I'm dating the President." Saying it out loud feels weird.

For a long time my mom is silent. Finally, she says, "For some reason, that doesn't surprise me."

"No?"

"No. Watching you two last night, well, it makes sense."

I pull my knees up to my chest. "What about watching us last night?"

"Well, it's how you were looking at one another. It was like you couldn't keep your clothes on any longer."

"Mom," I practically choke out. I then laugh.

I can tell she's laughing quietly, too. "But really, you looked very interested in one another."

"It's funny that you say that because two pictures were taken of us dancing and they're about to be published with headlines basically outing us."

"How long have you been dating?"

"About six weeks."

"And what are you going to do?"

"We've decided to go public. The other options weren't really good options for us. But," and I pause for a while at this point because the entire conversation is about to change. I sigh. "My life is about to become public which means..." I trail off because I can't say it.

The other end of the line is quiet. My mom is thinking and there's no doubt that she's put it together. "My life is going to be on display, too, isn't it?"

"Most likely. Obviously we don't know the extent of it, but Derek believes you'll be in the public eye, too." My stomach is in knots. "I'm so sorry, Mom."

"Don't be," she says, which blindsides me. "I know I'm getting worse and it feels like each day is a struggle to keep this to myself. We'd have to go public about my illness soon enough. If it happens today, it happens." I'm too shocked to say anything when she told me, it sounded like she wanted me to move heaven and earth to make sure no one found out.

"Plus, I don't want you to be alone."

At this I ask, "What? Why not?"

"Because there's no reason for it. You're brilliant and beautiful and you've been married to your job since day one."

"You were married to your job, too."

"Yes, I was, even after Richard. But before Richard, I was married to my job and in a marriage I felt captive in. I know what loneliness feels like Meredith, and I wouldn't wish that on you. If this relationship is important enough for you to lay it all on the line, then I don't want my disease holding you back. And I definitely don't want you to feel like you can't have both. You can have a life and a job."

I'm absolutely shocked. "I don't want to sound awful, but I'm just so surprised you're telling me this." It feels like if Cristina were to be telling me this and even the idea makes me uncomfortable.

"Soon I won't be able to tell you any of this, so now's the time."

I feel like I've been shot in the stomach. My eyes well. "Thanks, Mom."

She moves on. "Can I assume you won't be at work today?"

"Yes. I think I'll need to take the day. Will you tell Richard? About me taking the day and about Derek?"

"Of course."

"And if you're free, we'll probably do dinner sometime this week. Derek included."

"I'd love to."

I let out a big sigh I didn't realize I'd been holding. "I'll talk to you later."

When we both hang up, I clutch my phone to my chest and replay the conversation in my head. I had expected my mom to be angry, which she probably is, but the fact that she was so supportive is surprising. I always think when I speak to my mother I'll be speaking to the woman who was so busy when I was a little kid and who ruined my parents' relationship. But my mom is so much more than that and she's so different from the surly, career-focused woman from my youth.

Derek peeks into the room, opening the door just slightly. "Are you okay?" he asks.

I realize my tears are a bit more than just welling in my eyes and I wipe at my cheeks. Derek crosses the room and drops down onto his knees in front of me. His hands slide over my knees. "How bad was it?"

I shake my head. "It wasn't bad. She just reminded me that I won't have her for very much longer."

"Oh Meredith," he says, and he wraps his arms around me.

\\\\\

It's 8am and both Derek and I are staring at screens; he's on his iPad and I'm on my phone. I keep refreshing the _TMZ_ website and Derek keeps refreshing the _US Weekly_ website. We're not alone, of course. His entire team either sits or stands somewhere in the Oval, all doing exactly the same thing. The idea is to see the comments first and foremost and then decide a course of action from there. To say the room feels tense would be a massive understatement.

I hit refresh again and there it is. A second later someone in the room says, " _TMZ_ is live." People begin moving furiously and I just sit still and read.

 **Has the White House found its First Lady?**

 _Our very hot and_ _ **very**_ _single Commander-in-Chief was snuggled up to his equally hot and single surgeon this past weekend, sparking rumors that the two are kindling a romance._

 _Doctor Meredith Grey attended the Correspondent's Dinner this past weekend, stunning in a dark green vintage dress. The President was seen dancing with his mother and most of his sisters (one was noticeably absent), but it was the dance he shared with a certain doctor that really started the buzz._

 _The President and the Doctor shared just one dance, to Ed Sheeran's_ Kiss Me _, and it looked like the couple wanted to do just that. While Doctor Grey appeared to be_ trying _not to make their relationship apparent to everyone in the room, the President couldn't stop staring down at Doctor Grey. He held her hand in his against his chest and was seen gazing lovingly more than once. After a few laughs and even more longing looks, the couple stepped back and the evening continued on._

 _We've reached out for a comment from the White House and haven't heard back._

Lily is standing close to me. I ask, "Did they really reach out for a comment?"

She shakes her head. "Not that I'm aware."

"This _is_ them reaching out for a comment," someone says across the room.

I look over at Derek. "How is it?"

"Not bad, actually. They're sort of nice."

"Same with _TMZ_."

He hands me his iPad and I hand him my phone so we can read. He's right; _US Weekly_ isn't terrible. It's pretty much the same as the _TMZ_ article—a lot of speculation, with a heavy hand saying we are a couple. I finish reading and Derek and I switch again.

"Any comments?" he asks as he reloads the page.

"Not yet," Lily confirms. "I'm checking Twitter."

I set my phone down because I figure, regardless, someone's going to let me know what the comments say and only minutes later, they begin coming in. Lily commands the room for a while, reading the Tweets out loud.

 _Doesn't POTUS have a f*cking country to run? #whataboutsyria #findisis_

 _I feel like I read something once about falling in love in stressful situations. Actually I heard it. From the movie #SPEED #90skid POTUS_

 _I don't really care about POTUS and the doctor dating, but can we all agree that this should be a new Netflix series?!_

 _NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO POTUS #heartbroken_

 _Can we all agree that POTUS looks fly as fuck the other night? #getinme_

 _Doctor Grey I'm dying – I need mouth to mouth #callmegirl POTUS_

Derek smirks at me and I just roll my eyes. For the next thirty minutes or so, we hear more and more comments. Lily reads most of them, but others follow up with comments from the two websites and on other news aggregates' websites. For the most part the Tweets are silly or stupid, but the comments on _The New York Times'_ website and surprisingly, on _BuzzFeed_ , are a bit more coherent and allow for more room to express their feelings.

One comment sticks out. A woman writes, _When I was 26, I was in a horrendous car accident that left me in the hospital for almost two months. My surgeon was a guy named Todd Asher and he was there every single day during my recovery to guide me along. I remember being hurt and scared a lot of the time and I thought I might never walk again. Towards the end of my stay, as I walked the hallway clutching his arm, I knew I was in love with him. Of course it started with him caring for me and being there every day, but it was more than that. I think a lot of people think the President and Doctor Grey are together because of how she saved him, but looking at that picture, I think it's more. I'm sure it'll be hard dating each other, especially since both their careers are insanely stressful, but I hope the media can give them their space. Oh, and I married Todd Asher two years ago and I've never looked back_.

After Lily finishes reading the comment, I turn to Derek and he's gazing at me. He smiles and I reach forward to thread my fingers through his. He squeezes my hand and I feel like it'll all be okay.

I'm happy to just stay in the moment, but then my phone begins to ring. I look down and it says _Cristina._ "Shit." I show Derek and stand up, walking across the room towards his study. "Hello?" I ask just as Lily begins speaking again in the other room.

"So I'm just getting into work, sipping my coffee, actually having a good morning."

"Cristina," I try to interrupt.

"When all of a sudden, on _every single news channel_ , I see a picture of my person and _everyone_ is saying she is dating the President."

"It's been a crazy morning," I tell her.

"Oh I'm sure. But you couldn't send me a text that says, 'Oh hey person who has been through everything with me. You know that big secret I've been holding onto for weeks, well it's about to be in the open.' You couldn't do that?"

"No, not really."

Cristina sighs on the other end. "So what happened?"

"Pictures were about to be leaked and we made a decision."

"So you're going public?"

"We are. We're just waiting on the public response so they know how to spin it."

"That sounds exhausting. How are you feeling about everything?"

I sit down in one of the overstuffed chairs. "I'm not sure. I guess I'll see how I feel after we make the announcement. For now it seems like the public response is sort of what we expected."

"Which is…?"

"Mixed. People seem to be more upset that Derek's no longer available."

I can practically hear Cristina rolling her eyes. "So what's the next step?"

"No idea. Derek's team has a way of talking around me instead of to me. It's infuriating."

"Well this _is_ all your fault," she teases.

"I blame Derek."

"Me, too. Do you need anything?"

"When you see Alex, tell him to call me. It looks like I can't really live at home anymore." And before she asks I say, "Paparazzi."

"Does he have to move out?"

"He has to decide what he wants to do. I'm not kicking him out and I don't want to sell my house."

"Fair enough. I'll tell him to give you a call."

"I should get back. I'll call you later."

"Good luck," Cristina says before ending the call.

Back in the Oval, Derek's listening intently to even more comments. At this point I assumed we'd be past all this, but evidently not. I'm more interested in what the next step is, but then again, I guess they need a more well-rounded response before making any decisions. I pretend to listen to the comments and Tweets, but mostly I'm wondering how to get things from my house and where I'm going to be staying. It's going to feel weird and already I just want to be in my own bed. I'm sure whatever extra house Derek has will be really nice. And maybe I'll have someone to cook for me. That won't be that bad.

I'm busy daydreaming when I realize the room is silent and everyone is looking at me. I glance at Derek first and he has a concerned look. "Sorry, what?" I ask.

Derek nods to Alan and he reads, " _Dr. Grey is a murderer. She killed my mom last year. I would never trust that_ —" Alan looks at me, but doesn't finish the sentence. I can figure out for myself what expletive was about to be used.

"Does it say the person's name?" I ask calmly, although my insides are turning.

"Her name is Chrissy Cole."

 _Cole, Cole, Cole_ , I repeat in my head. Chrissy Cole doesn't sound familiar, but the family members are rarely familiar. I remember the patients. And when I think of Cole… And then it hits me. I remember a teenaged girl, about sixteen at the time, sitting beside with her mother for days. Her mom had metastatic melanoma and had maybe two months when I first took on the case. The mother, Harper Cole, wanted me to do everything in my power to cut out the cancer. I worked with our oncology team and when we cut her open, there were mets on her liver. She never woke up after her surgery.

I know why Chrissy blames me; because although I wasn't the person to decide to cut, I'm the one who did and I'm the one Harper wanted to do everything I could. I feel sick to my stomach.

Everyone is still staring at me. I nod. "Her mom did die under my care."

Lily walks over and takes Alan's phone, reading over the post. "This is bullshit. You can't be accused of basically murder for doing your job."

"Unfortunately it's part of my job."

Derek's hand slides over mine. "I hate to say it, but this might be a common occurrence. I'd hate for you to be reminded of your losses every day."

I give him a tight-lipped smile. "I already remind myself of my losses every day. It won't hurt anymore in comments and Tweets." I turn back to the room and everyone seems to busy themselves. "We should move on."

"No," Derek shakes his head. "I think we're done for now." He turns back to his team. "Why don't you put together some more information, get a feel for where we're at, and we'll discuss it later. I'm going to take lunch." And with that we're alone.

"Thank you."

Derek leans in and kisses me softly. "We don't have to do this, you know. We can ignore it or pretend to just be friends."

I'm happy that breaking up isn't even an option for him. "The first few days will be the hardest. I can make it through."

He nods and the moment is peaceful for the first time all day. And then his phone rings. He sighs, gives me a look, and crosses the room. "Yes," he says and he's very different in that moment. I guess I haven't really seen working President Derek, only the Derek I know and the Derek he has to be in front of cameras. I must admit, his authoritative tone kinda does it for me.

And then he's smiling. "I'm not ignoring you." He covers the phone with his hand and mouths, _Mom_. I smile. He's in trouble. "We actually are breaking for lunch." He leans back against the desk and crosses one arm over his chest. He looks like JFK. "Would you guys like to have lunch with Meredith and me? That way you can get to know her."

I can't help but feel a little nervous.

"I know you know her, but you don't know her as my girlfriend."

He gives me a wink.

"Alright. Well we'll take lunch in the garden since it's so nice out. We'll see you all there in a few."

Before I have anything to say, Derek holds up his hands and says, "Now don't kill me. I figured, one, we have to do this whole meeting the family thing and I know I said dinner, but that leads me to number two. With dinner it could go on for _hours_ and lunch, we have an hour, maybe. I'm sure my team won't be happy if we take a three hour lunch. So really I'm saving you."

I reach out and take his hand. "I've met your family before."

"Yes, but you were saving me then and the other times everyone was happy drunk on champagne and dancing. Now they're going to grill you."

"Okay, well my nerves just shot through the roof. Thank you for that."

He grins at me. "Come on. I'm starving."

\\\\\

When Derek said "take lunch in the garden," I thought he was being European, calling the backyard (which also is an underwhelming term for the White House's lawn) the garden. But in actuality, we're in a freaking gorgeous garden.

Derek leads me outside with his hand in mine. We step onto a warm patio made of dark grey stones which curl into a path heading through thick, beautiful flowering bushes. A huge tree covers most of the area and all around are shrubs and flowers, bees buzzing, and not a single speck of the outside world. The place is an oasis. In the middle is a long table and there's even a grill. It all feels very, oddly normal.

"Tell me the truth, how many gardeners do you have?"

He laughs. "Honestly, I have no idea."

I look up at him and I allow myself to forget about how hard this day has been. I reach up and hook my arm around the back of his neck and his arm wraps around my back. We just stand like that and it feels good. He gives me another grin and then a kiss, only this isn't the chaste kisses we've been sharing all day. Within seconds, we're both completely pressed to one another, our arms locking the other in place. Derek parts my lips with his tongue and I gladly accept. All I want is to take his clothes off, but then I hear the sound of footsteps coming towards us and we both pull away.

We pull away a little too late, to be honest.

"Get a room," Amelia teases. She looks at me and smile. "Hi troublemaker." She hugs me.

"Why am I troublemaker?" I ask.

Next I'm hugged by Liz. "Because Alan looks like his head is about to explode and everyone is running around mumbling about Twitter and how stupid some Americans can be."

I roll my eyes. "It's his fault." I nod in Derek's direction, and then take a hug from Kate.

Derek holds up his hands. "No way. You practically jumped me in the hospital."

I finally hug Nancy and then end with Carolyn. She looks more pleased than last night when she caught us. "How are you holding up?" she asks and instead of hugging me, wraps her arm around my shoulder.

"I'm okay."

"It's not easy."

I glance at Derek and he's watching us. "No, but it's worth it."

Carolyn beams at me.

After a few minutes, Derek's chef Stephen joins us to see what we all want. It's strange to be able to order whatever we want. Literally anything. I could ask for a full Thanksgiving dinner and I don't think I'd be told no. But I order a salad. Everyone else ordered a salad and asking for a big juicy hamburger felt a little wrong. After we order, it seems like its grill Meredith time.

Nancy starts off the questions. "Your mom is a doctor, right? I think I remember her from Derek's stay in the hospital."

"Yes. She's a general surgeon as well."

"So that's how you got into medicine?" Kate asks.

"I was basically raised in the hospital, so it's always been in my life. My stepfather is the Chief of Surgery."

"What about your biological dad?" Nancy asks.

I'm not used to talking about Thatcher, but I'm sure everything will be out in the open soon enough. "He and my mom split up when I was really young. He moved to Seattle and has two other daughters."

"Have you ever met them?" Amelia asks, not at all hiding the shock in her voice.

I shake my head. "No. I don't really plan to."

"So is it weird working with your mom and step dad every day?" Liz asks.

"Not really. We keep a professional relationship when we're at work. Plus, I've been working with the two of them my entire career. It feels normal at this point."

"I'd go crazy if I had to work with any of my family members," Amelia says.

Derek laughs. "Do you not remember the summer you and I worked at the same summer camp? You hated being anywhere I wasn't."

Amelia glares at her brother. "If I remember correctly, you were busy chasing one of the counselors around all summer. What was her name again?"

Derek turns a little pink in the cheeks. "I have no idea to whom you speak of."

I cross my arms over my chest, trying to look intimidating. "Yeah Derek. What was her name?"

Everyone laughs and he gives me this goofy look. He looks so young when he pulls the look and it makes me want to kiss him. I give him a coy smirk.

"Her name was Stephanie, if you all must know, and we were Facebook friends before I deleted Facebook last year. She's happily married with two kids."

"You seem to know a lot about her," Nancy teases.

"I thought this was about you getting to know my girlfriend. Why is this slowly becoming a roast?"

Carolyn laughs at Derek. "Really it seems like you've just added one more woman to the mix who knows you need to be knocked off your pedestal every now and again."

"Cheers to that," Kate says, raising her water glass.

"But I'm your favorite," Derek says, pouting. He gives me a wink.

"No dear, Meredith is my new favorite." She gives me a big smile.

\\\\\

By the evening, I've decided this was the longest day of my life and it's not nearly over yet. Derek is busy talking to his advisors and I'm wrapping up a call with Alex. He's decided to stay in our house. He doesn't care about the paparazzi and he agrees that we can't sell the place. I feel better that everything is in place. I look through my texts, ignoring most of them, and find one from my mother asking if I'll come to dinner tomorrow night and if I'll bring Derek. Everything feels so official.

I walk back into the room and it seems like everything is wrapping up. I stand next to Derek and he says, "Let's recap," which I know is for my benefit. "Lily," he says, giving her the floor.

"Okay. So we're going to make an announcement tomorrow. I'll take the floor in the press room and make an announcement that you and Doctor Grey are officially dating. I'll take some questions, but then I have a quick conversation with Anderson Cooper. He's going to give us part of his segment and I'll give some more details. On Thursday we're going to have a sit down interview of Dianne Sawyer. Meredith and the President will have an hour. We've requested all the questions ahead of time. The goal is to be honest, but not give too much away."

"We'll do a run-through," Derek tells me. "You won't have to jump off the cuff with answers."

"Good."

Lily nods and continues. "And then we're just going to let the media do what they will. No more interviews. Doctor Grey, you'll just be a normal part of the President's life and we're not going to make comments."

"No more interviews?" I ask. "I thought we were talking daytime shows."

"The President has requested for just one interview."

I look over at Derek. I know he did this for me. I give him a nod, which he returns. I turn back to the room. "Okay," I agree.

Derek nods. "You've heard her." Everyone in the room seems to relax. "Why don't we all call it a day? I think we all need a minute to breathe. Good work everyone."

I turn to Derek as everyone files from the room. "Now what?"

"Now, I ask that you stay the night with me again and tomorrow we pretend we have normal lives."

I laugh. "Good luck with that. Oh, and on top of everything, my parents want you to come over to dinner tomorrow night. Maybe we'll go after Lily's interview."

"It sounds like a plan. Should I be nervous?"

I can't help but laugh again. "Oh most definitely."

* * *

 **Thanks again to: ForeverMerDer, We'reNotGonnaPayRent, judy, boubou, Gaylelynn, bj188, ntlpurpolia, Hasi2012, ibustx, mollyisfast, CileSuns92, Little Rae of Light, two harts, Harryfan626, Paz, mandyg67, Patsy, Hitam1, xxxjoxxx, katevan, Pat, merderfan1, SheJustDoesn'tKnowItYet, oolivchen, Meredith Robbins, and four guests, and Million Candles, who is currently reviewing as she catches up.  
**


	19. F-ck

**AN: I am overwhelmed by the amazing comments you've all left for me. Honestly, I never expected this story to be such a big hit and to see over 1,000 people reading each update is just incredible, so thank you.**

 **And I did want to mention a special thanks to anyone who brought up Ellis's better attitude in the last few reviews. I'm about to type way too much, so if you're not interested, feel free to just get to the update.**

 **I've been re-watching Grey's from the beginning and I just finished season three last night. I was inspired to make Ellis a better mother to Meredith because I think if she and Richard had worked, Ellis wouldn't have been so angry. Of course she'd still be driven and a bit neglectful, but she might not look down on Meredith so much. Ellis even says in 3.14 "Wishin' and Hopin', "If I'd fought harder for [Richard], maybe..." in which Richard says, "We would've had a wonderful life together Ellis." Ellis also says, "And I would've been happy. Just like Meredith says she's happy. And that would've changed everything." No matter what you think about the show's Ellis, this scene is heartbreaking because you realize Meredith and Derek very easily could've fallen into the same outcome. Ellis never had Richard the way she wanted and needed and I think that's the corner stone of Meredith's bad relationship with her mother.**

 **Anyway, I'm babbling. Thank you to anyone who's commented and I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

It's the next morning and Derek's alarm is ringing to wake us both up. We decided to wake up a half hour early just so we can have some time together—just a moment that doesn't include outsider questions, theories, or panic.

Derek turns off his alarm and we both meet in the middle of the bed like magnets. I have to admit, I've been spoiled the last two nights sleeping beside him. Going to my own bed, a new bed, is going to be harder than I can imagine. Derek's arm wraps around my waist. He stretches out his other arm and I rest my head on his bicep. "Good morning," he says and despite his awful breath (and probably mine), I kiss him. "How'd you sleep?"

"Like the dead." I rest both my palms flat on his chest. We're both still full clothed, having been too tired to do anything last night. I like that we didn't have sex because it assures me that all of this is more than just that.

His fingers run up and down my spine. "You're so beautiful," he says and then kisses both my cheeks.

I smile.

"Are you ready for today?"

I toy with his shirt, worrying the fabric in my fingers. "I'm just ready for today to be over."

"You're right about that. I'd give anything to just be dealing with terrorists right now."

I laugh. "I'd rather be in a fifteen hour surgery."

"No, that's not how the game works. You have to say something you actually don't want and if I know you at all, you'd stab me so you could stand for a surgery that long."

He's right, of course. "I'd make sure to save you if it's any consolation prize."

"Why are you the one always saving me?"

"Because I don't need no man to save me."

He bursts out laughing.

I run my fingers along his laughing cheeks.

Derek leans in to kiss me again. I can tell he's smiling against my mouth. I deepen the kiss and nudge him back against the mattress. He goes willingly, threading his hands through my hair to keep it from my face. I slide my palms down his chest and up and under his t-shirt. We're kissing again, deeply, but lazily, still foggy from a night of sleep. Derek's hands slide beneath my shirt and up to my breasts, cupping me in his hands. It's my turn to smile against his mouth.

We use most of our free half hour having incredible sex, not that I'm complaining. As we both finish, Derek lies back against the mattress and his second alarm goes off. He shows it to me. "Perfect timing," he says before kissing me once more.

We both get ready for work, chatting about how the schedule will work for today. Derek spits after brushing his teeth and says, "So you'll be done with work by four and then Lily will be on CNN at five. One of my guys will drive you back here, we'll watch, have a quick meeting to discuss it, and then dinner with your parents. After all that, I'll show you your new place."

He's busy fussing with his hair in the mirror when I walk up behind him and wrap my arms around his stomach. I press my cheek to his back. "You know, you can keep having that excited tone when you talk about me moving, but it doesn't change the fact that I'm giving up my house."

He rests his hand atop mine. "You don't have to move."

I pull back and meet his eyes in the mirror. "I don't think your security team would agree."

Derek looks down into the sink. "You're right."

I grin. "I love hearing that." I pull apart from him and walk back into the bedroom, sitting down to pull on my shoes.

Derek leans in the door frame of the bathroom with his arms crossed over his chest. "Does it really upset you that you have to move?"

"No, not really," I say honestly. "I just don't want to feel like a kept woman."

"You won't be. If it helps, I could make you pay rent." I look up at him, giving him an incredulous look. I doubt Derek would ever take money from me. "With _sex_ ," he whispers the last part.

"I am going to throw my shoe at your head."

Derek laughs. "At this point I believe it. First you were going to stab me and now this."

"You brought up the stabbing."

"I did."

His phone rings. As he passes me to answer, he strokes my cheek. "Yes?" he asks. "Alright. Doctor Grey is just about ready, so have one of your guys meet us downstairs. Thanks."

"My day is starting without me."

"Mine, too. Let's go."

Derek walks me down to the floor above the garage, where Toby waits patiently. "Doctor Grey," he gives me a nod.

"Hi Toby." I turn to Derek. "Okay, so I'll see you around four."

He nods. "Yes." He looks a little sad. "You know, we've never spent this much time together. Not even at Camp David. I wish we would've had more time alone," he admits quietly. I'm sure Toby can hear, but he'd never say anything.

"Me, too. Although I must admit I need to go back to my life today."

"Same here." He kisses me. "Call me if you need anything."

"You, too."

And with that I step on the elevator, keeping my eye on Derek as the doors close between us.

\\\\\

Immediately I can feel a change in the hospital. I've literally walked from where Toby just dropped me off, to the elevator, and stepped off onto the surgical floor, and the air around me feels charged.

The first stop is the attending lounge, but as I walk in that direction, I hear my name and I can already tell it's from a news report. I stop by one of the waiting rooms, which is mercifully empty, and watch the TV screen. "I was shocked," the red-headed reporter says to her co-anchor, a man who is older than my father and already has a frown on his face. "Here is this man we just elected President just a few months ago and he's already found time to date."

"You're right, Joanna. And we demand answers. When will they be making a statement? We demand to know how the President will run this country while going on vacations with his new girlfriend."

"And who says it will last?" The female anchor asks.

"No one," the grumpy anchor says. "She very well could be temporary and what happens when they break up? I just think it's completely irresponsible."

Before I get too heated, I walk away from the broadcast. Along the way to the lounge, I pass a few co-workers—a nurse and two orderlies—and I can tell they're looking at me funny. I say hello in passing, and maybe I'm being too sensitive, but their return hellos sound very strange. The one orderly draws out the l's and gives me a raised eyebrow look. I can only associate it with a look someone would give you if they knew you'd gotten laid the night before. Sure it's true (well, this morning actually), but that doesn't mean I want to spread it around.

I duck into the attending lounge, relieved to find only Cristina in the room. She looks up at me while tying her shoelaces. "Hey Marilyn Monroe."

"How am I Marilyn Monroe?" I ask while stowing my things in my cubby. I kick off my shoes and begin to strip to change into my scrubs.

"Well, you're no Monica Lewinsky."

"What's wrong with Monica Lewinsky?" I pull my hair back in a ponytail. "Did you see that TED Talk she gave? It was incredible."

Cristina stands. "Unlike you, I have other ways to fill my time besides watching TED Talk YouTube videos. Although, now that you've gone public with the President, I guess your time will be full of interviews, tabloid pages, and vacations to third world countries."

Maybe I'm just too sensitive today, but Cristina sounds pissed. Or maybe jealous. "What's up with you?" I ask.

"Nothing," she says almost immediately.

"Okay, but why are you biting my head off?"

"I'm not." She meets my eyes and I can tell she's lying. I just stare at her for a few seconds and then she rolls her eyes. "I'm not trying to bite your head off. I'm pissed at Owen and it's translating to be pissed at you."

"Well can you not be pissed at me today? My life sort of changed yesterday."

Cristina sinks to sit beside me. "Yeah, what's that like? Details please because Owen paged me a second before you came in here and I'd like to avoid him."

"It's weird. I mean, you know the whole thing has been weird, but people are talking about me now. When Derek was first in the hospital, I didn't mind my name being thrown around because I was his doctor, which held some respect, but now I feel like I'm being reduced to the little woman at his side. We have our first interview this week and the next week we'll have our first event together. Derek's team's hired a crisis manager who is going to teach us how to be around each other in public without being too perverse."

"The sex has to be really, really amazing to put yourself in the public eye."

I know I should be demure; the crisis manager would want me to be demure, even while sitting in private with my best friend. But the last inch I will have for a while are my personal, private relationships, so I smile and say, "You have no idea how good."

Cristina rolls her eyes. "Gag." She stands up. Her pager goes off again.

"So why are you mad at Owen?"

She checks her pager and by the look on her face I know it's Owen. "He wants more. He wants to move in with each other."

"What's so wrong with that? You moved in with Burke after just a few months."

Cristina cuts me a look. "And look how that turned out."

"Owen is different. You've said so a million times."

She sighs, "Yeah, but moving in together? That's big."

"Maybe it's time," I say with a shrug.

Cristina's pager goes off again. "I have to go, but I have to say, the sex might be incredible, but is all this really worth it?"

"Yes. I think it is."

She nods. "Okay then."

After Cristina leaves, I allow myself a minute to compose my thoughts before heading into my day. I have a big surgery this afternoon and I refuse to allow my personal life to affect my job. I grab my phone and slide in into my pocket and make my way toward the nurse's station. In a town like Washington D.C. all political news is a big deal. That's not to say in the middle if Kansas it's not equally important, but we live on politics in D.C. whereas finance and fashion may be more important in New York and film and TV may be more important in Los Angeles.

The point is, anything that ever happens to any politician is immediately the morning's gossip, so any hope that people might have missed the broadcast disappears the second I reach the nurse's station and pick up on the last bit of conversation about me.

"She's so lucky. He's so handsome. But Doctor Grey really should be careful. What if something from her past comes to light?" A nurse, named Francine, says. She's never been one of my favorite people, mostly because she spends more of her day gossiping than working.

I clear my throat and she, along with two other nurses, glance my way. Francine's eyes go wide. "Oh, Doctor Grey, good to see you." She puts on a fake smile.

"Is there something you wanted to discuss Nurse Francine?" I hold her gaze. I'm not going to explicitly call her out on her blatant, distasteful gossiping, but I do want her to own up to it.

"I'm so sorry Doctor Grey. I wish you hadn't overheard that."

"I'd prefer if you'd wished you hadn't said it, not that I overheard." I turn to one of the other nurses. "Could I please have the chart for Gavin Eaton?" She scrambles for it. As she hands the chart to me, I tuck it under my arm. I look at Francine again. "I don't expect to hear you gossiping about me again."

I walk away before I say anymore. I walk down the hallway to the intern locker room. April is already there, doling out the morning assignments. "Willis, Glover has requested you. Peters and Reece, you'll be with Karev and Shaw will be with Grey."

"Doctor Shaw," I say as the other interns head off for their assignments. I hand her the chart. "You look tired. Are you getting enough sleep?"

Shaw nods and opens the chart. "Yes Doctor Grey."

"Good. We have a busy day."

We start rounding on my patients, visiting Gavin Eaton first. He had a kidney transplant two days ago. "Mr. Eaton," I greet while walking into his room. Gavin is younger than I am and was on bypass for three years before a kidney finally came through.

"Morning Doctor Grey," he smiles from his bed. He's charming, that much is clear the second he smiles. "Doctor Grey, I'm not feeling well."

"What's wrong?" I ask. Complications from a kidney transplant are rare, but they do happen. It would be some kind of cosmic joke if after three years of waiting, the transplant doesn't take.

"I'm heartbroken," he says.

I stop short of his bed. "You're heartbroken," I repeat.

Gavin reaches onto his side table and grabs the remote. He turns on the TV, which seems like the wrong moment considering he's claiming to be in pain. As soon as the TV brightens, I know exactly where he's going with this. "You're dating him?" Gavin asks and covers his heart with his hand. "Doctor Grey, I thought we had a thing going!"

I grab the remote from his hand and turn off the news, which is running a picture of me superimposed next to a picture of Derek. "So you're fine."

"I'm not. I'm heartbroken!"

I hear Dr. Shaw laugh next to me. I cut her a look and she stops immediately.

"Besides your broken heart, how are you?"

He grins at me. "Just wonderful! I don't have to pee into a bag, Doctor Grey. Life is good. And you're dating the most powerful man in the world." He puts his fist to his chin. "Now tell me, how does that feel?"

I smirk and shake my head, unable to deny Gavin's charms. "I am not getting into it with you."

He turns to Dr. Shaw. "You know all Doctor Grey's secrets, don't you?"

Before Shaw can say anything, I say, "Doctor Shaw knows none of my secrets. Let's focus, Mr. Eaton. Are you or are you not feeling alright?"

"You're no fun today. I am feeling just fine, Doctor Grey."

Dr. Shaw makes a note in the chart.

"I'm glad you're feeling okay. I'll have Doctor Shaw round on you later today."

"Bring some gossip, Doctor Shaw," he calls as we leave the room.

I turn to Shaw. "If you say anything to that man you will be on scut for a month."

"Yes Doctor Grey."

\\\\\

Just a minute to five and Derek and I are sitting in his private quarters with CNN playing on the TV. We're both absolutely silent. We can't turn back. This moment will define our relationship for as long as it lasts. I can't tell if I want to cry or throw up. I glance in Derek's direction, thinking he might meet my eyes, but he looks as stressed as I've ever seen him. Just a few seconds later, the commercial playing stops and the intro music to the news begins.

I take a deep breath.

"Good evening. I'm Anderson Cooper and this is _Anderson Cooper 360_. For nearly thirty-six hours now, everyone has been wondering and speculating about the possible romance between our Commander-in-Chief, President Derek Shepherd, and the surgeon who saved him, Doctor Meredith Grey. Tonight we'll receive an answer, given to us by Lily Green, the President's Press Secretary."

Derek takes my hand and for just a second I look away from the TV. Our eyes lock and he gives me a reassuring smile. I know he's not assured, but he wants me to be assured.

"Ms. Green, thank you for joining us via video conferencing. Can you please tell us about the conversation you just had to the press core in the press room of the White House?"

I didn't arrive in time for Lily's big speech, but it should be hitting airwaves just as this interview airs.

"Thank you Anderson. Yes, I'm happy to tell you that I met with our press core less than an hour ago and announced that the President and Doctor Grey are officially dating."

Lily looks good; she looks professional. She's wearing a suit jacket and her hair is tied back. I'm sure every decision so far has been strategic.

"Obviously the President met Miss Grey in the hospital, but could you tell us how their relationship formed?"

"That's Doctor Grey, Anderson," Lily corrects.

He gives a smile. "Of course. _Doctor_ Grey," he corrects.

"Well I don't want to share too much before President Shepherd and Doctor Grey have their first sit down interview with Dianne Sawyer later this week, but I can say that while Doctor Grey was tending to President Shepherd, their relationship was simply as a doctor and her patient."

"But that changed," Anderson hedges.

Lily nods. "Yes and very recently."

"Did the President and Doctor Grey have any plans to come forward _before_ those images were leaked of them at the Correspondent's Dinner?"

"Yes, President Shepherd had plans to announce the relationship."

"But Doctor Grey didn't want to?"

Lily sounds confident when she says, "Doctor Grey and President Shepherd are a single unit within their relationship. The decisions are made by the two of them. So to answer your question, Doctor Grey was on the same page with the President."

"I'm sure you're seen the feedback all across the internet and may individuals feel the President has more important responsibilities than dating. What do you have to say about that?"

"Well, I'd agree that the President has a very busy schedule, and once again I don't want to take too much away from their interview this Thursday, but I will say that the President dating isn't a new concept. The fact is thirty-six of the seated presidents were married their entire duration in office, but they, too, managed to date their wives while tending to the country."

"Yes, but there's a difference between dating your wife and dating someone new. New relationships must be heavily cultivated. I expect the President can't spend so much time away from a new relationship and expect it to work."

"Of course the President and Doctor Grey want as much time together as possible, but they're both busy. Doctor Grey is the most in demand general surgeon at Georgetown and maintains long hours. The President's position obviously is very demanding, so they both understand. As to your other comment, while there were thirty-six married presidents in office, eight, not including President Shepherd, were unmarried for at least part of their time in office. John Tyler's wife died a year into his presidency and he remarried two years later. Grover Cleveland married in 1886, a year after he took office and even married in the White House. Woodrow Wilson married only a year after his wife died and only two years into his presidency. A seated President courting, or the more modern term, dating isn't unheard of."

Anderson looks sternly at Lily through a monitor, no doubt. "Yes, but all those instances ended in marriage. Is that something the President and Doctor Grey are looking toward?"

"Now _that_ I'll have to leave to be answers on Thursday."

Anderson is clearly frustrated. "What _can_ you tell us, Ms. Green?"

"I _can_ tell you that the President and Doctor Grey are happy. If there's any takeaway from those leaked photos, it's that they're very happy with each other."

"Well, thank you Lily for confirming the news. And up next we'll take some calls and hear how the American people are responding to the love affair of the President and the doctor."

Commercials begin. I look at Derek.

He releases a breath.

"Well?" I ask.

He grins. "We're public."

I give him a smile. "We're public."

We don't stick around for the American peoples' comments and we don't talk long with his people before heading to my parents' house. Derek will sit down with his team tonight or tomorrow morning and they'll go over everything then. I think he can tell I'm sick of talking about it and he's more than capable of figuring out how America sees our relationship without me.

Toby drives us to my parents' house with Grant in the passenger seat. Derek looks nice in a collared shirt and black pants. He looks casual, but also respectful for meeting my parents, despite the fact that they've met multiple times. But just like my lunch with his sisters and mom, this meeting is a little different. And Derek seems a little nervous.

"You should just admit it," I tease him.

He's trying to busy himself staring out the window. He turns to me. "I'm thirty-nine years old; I'm not nervous."

"Those two things have nothing to do with one another."

"I'm not nervous," he repeats.

I'm pretty sure either Toby or Grant quietly laughs from the front seat. Derek hears it, too, and shoots a dirty look in their direction. "They'll be nice. They already like you."

He sighs. "I know."

"But you're still nervous."

Derek glances at me. "Maybe."

I lean in and kiss him. "Don't be," I say softly against his lips.

Usually when I arrive at my parents' house, they're both in the kitchen, sipping wine very casually. Richard is always cooking and my mom is sampling off the serving dishes. They've never done anything fancy. But then again, they've never had the President at their house.

We walk in the front door and instantly I know tonight is different. There's freaking jazz playing in the background. The house smells like cinnamon and is _spotless_. My mom hasn't cleaned in her life, but I honestly think she cleaned the entire place head to toe. I shut the door behind us, just taking everything in. Derek reaches to remove my coat. "What's up?" he asks.

"They're trying _so_ hard."

"Why do you say that?"

"Oh, you'll see."

Not even a second later, Richard and my mom appear in the doorway. "You're here," Richard says with a smile. He walks forward, his hand at my mom's lower back, leading her into the room. Richard holds out his hand to Derek. "Good to see you again, Mr. President."

Derek shakes his head. "Oh no, please call me Derek." He grins at my mom. "It's great to see you, Ellis," he says, like they've been friends for years. He leans down and kisses her cheek.

"You, too, Derek."

They're so flipping charming.

"Okay, okay Stepford family," I tease. I give my mom and my stepdad quick hugs. "I didn't even know you guys liked jazz."

"Richard has always been into jazz."

I really feel like my parents have been taken over by aliens.

"Your house is beautiful," Derek says.

"Thank you." My mom looks happy. "It doesn't compare to your house, though."

"My house is temporary, only four to eight years."

"What about your house in Maine?"

I never think about Derek's life before DC and the presidency. He smiles fondly. "I do miss my house. It doesn't compare to your home, but I love that place. It's right on the ocean."

"Do you go back often?" Richard asks.

"No, but I was planning a trip soon." Derek gives me a pointed glance. I've been to the White House numerous times at this point, but the idea of going to his home in Maine feels so much more personal. His fingers gently brush past mine, completely deliberate, and my neck tingles. "Something smells great," he says.

My mom motions towards the kitchen. "Richard is making pot roast. He's the best cook."

"That's true," I say.

"Well it smells great."

"What can I get you to drink, Derek?"

"A beer would be great."

"Coming right up."

Richard and my mom head towards the kitchen and I follow. Derek takes my hand and pulls me back into a searing kiss. I'm caught off guard, but I collect myself and kiss him back. As we pull away, I ask, "What was that for?"

"I love you," he says and it's the first time he's said it since Saturday night, which feels like a century ago.

I run my hand along the back of his hand and over his wrist. I press my thumb to his pulse and feel it ticking away. "I love you, too."

We join my mom and Richard and the hour leading up to dinner is actually really nice. I sit with my mom and sip wine and Derek jumps in to help cook. I've yet to see Derek really cooking, not just breakfast in the morning, and it's a sight to see. He and Richard have a natural chemistry and they work well together.

During a moment of distraction between the men, my mom says to me, "The secret of a happy marriage is letting the man cook."

I glance at her over my wine glass rim. "That's the only secret?"

"One of the bigger ones," she claims.

"Well I'm not married."

"Yet," she says.

I roll my eyes and say nothing more.

We all sit down in the formal dining room, a room we don't even use for holidays. Derek and I sit across from each other and my parents sit at each end. We pass food and swap stories. It's all very civil and even more comfortable than our time in the kitchen. My parents want to know all about Derek's climb to the very top. Why politics. Why the presidency. Why, why, why. Derek is gracious and answers every question. In fact, he seems happy to talk about it. I'm sure most days he's just reflecting on whatever horror cropped up that day.

In between Derek's interrogation, he asks about my mom's and Richard's careers. They could talk all day about being surgeons and they do go on for a while, but it's a highlight of the early years. I rarely hear about this time, so I'm equally engrossed.

The wine keeps flowing and we retire to the living room. Derek nurses a scotch, sitting next to me on the couch. He throws his arm around my shoulders. I place my hand on his knee and look at him. My mom and Richard are choosing a new CD, which is as amusing as it sounds. I feel loose and happy from all the wine. "So, how am I doing?" he asks quietly.

"They're in love with you."

Derek beams with pride. "They're good people."

"They are."

"That does it," my mom says and turns to us. I watch her face melt into happiness. She glances at Richard and he's also smiling.

I've never brought anyone home before, so I think they've been waiting for this moment for years. I don't think they care that Derek is the President or that it might be complicated. I know they want me to be happy and in this moment, I am.

"So, are you both nervous?" Richard asks.

I look to Derek to answer. "I think we'd be crazy not to be nervous, but coming forward was necessary."

"That's a good way to put it," I agree.

"We saw you have an interview on Thursday?" my mom asks.

I squeeze Derek's knee. "Yes."

"And then, what's next?"

Derek and I share a look. I shrug and he says, "I don't know."

After dinner, we head to my new place. Overall, everything went as good as possible. My parents were on their best behavior and Derek was as engaging as I know him to be. I'm sure anyone's parents could fall in love with him. I wasn't nervous earlier in the evening because somehow I knew they'd love each other, but now I'm nervous.

Derek holds my hand.

"What should I expect? A mansion?"

"No mansion, but it isn't small."

I'm afraid the place will feel lonely. I'm so used to having Alex around. So I ask, "What if I hate it?"

"We'll find somewhere else," he says confidently.

We drive back towards the White House and just across the road, we pull up to a white town house with heavy fencing all around it. It looks like a normal house, but I can see the tell-tale signs of presidential protection at work. We drive around to a side garage with a heavy, metal door. Toby keys something into what looks like a garage door opener on the visor above his head and the door opens. We drive into the underground garage. Toby opens my door.

Derek and I walk to the elevator and again, there's another code. "All the codes are written down for you."

"Good."

We take the elevator up one floor and step out. I don't know what to say. First there's the matter of an elevator even existing in a place I live, but second is…well…everything else. I step away from Derek, dropping his hand, and spinning to take everything in. And this is _just_ the foyer. I turn to Derek and say, "What. The. Fuck."

* * *

 **Thanks again to: MeredithRobbins, Julianacs, Judy, bj188, gladluvgrey, , xxxjoxxx, CiaraM, Rachel, Hasi2012. Charlotte'sShows, mollyisfast, pat, VLight, Katevan, virginaye, Hitam1, Mathilde, mandyg67, williamsm98, two harts, merderfan1, Harryfan626, Lainey6901, Patsy, greyhouses, nltpurpolia, McAbc, and four guests.  
**


	20. Life

**AN: Thank you _so_ much for the wonderful feedback on the last part. Each comment fuels my creativity and I love hearing from you. Please keep on leaving me messages because I read every single one and really appreciate it. Please enjoy the next part!**

* * *

It's Thursday morning and my interview with Diane Sawyer is in four hours. I repeat the Diane Sawyer part over and over again in my mind, trying to find some semblance of understanding somewhere. It makes no sense at all.

I've taken another day off work, but I've promise Richard—and more importantly myself—that I won't be taking any more days off for a while. Richard has been understanding, but I'm not so comfortable with the idea. My life is surgery and now my life is Derek and surgery. I don't want to forget about the second part just become of the new inclusion of the first part. Luckily my patients are being well-tended to and tomorrow my life will be back on track.

I'm actually afraid for tomorrow. The last five days have been surreal, but they've also been full of Derek. I know that's going to end. We'll be able to be seen together, but I worry that being seen together doesn't necessarily mean we'll have more time together. I haven't asked many questions, and honestly the answers might scare me, but I have an idea that going public will mean my new job won't just be the President's arm candy, but also his First Lady.

I know Derek won't _really_ make me his First Lady, but the public might try to put me into that role and I'm not ready for it. Hell, I'll never be ready for it. I don't _want_ it.

But my future role is unimportant right now. I have the interview to think about.

Oh and this _massive_ house I'm living in.

With Derek by my side Tuesday night, I didn't have a lot of time to really gape at the hugeness of it all, and with work yesterday, I was barely even here, but now I have time to sneak and explore.

First and foremost, the townhouse is only a townhouse by definition, which claims a townhouse is a city house, tall and narrow, having three or more floors. Yes, this house is tall and it's narrower than let's say the _White House_ , and yes, there are…FIVE floors. So yes, this place is a townhouse. But it's also a freaking mansion.

Downstairs there are six rooms: two living spaces (one called the parlor….seriously), a dining room, a kitchen, an office, and a piano room. A room for a piano. The second floor has another living space and three bedrooms with their own bathrooms. The third floor is more like a loft overlooking the third floor atrium. An atrium. The fourth floor is the owner's quarters, including the master bedroom, two baths, and four walk-in closets. The final fifth floor has a sauna, a yoga studio, and another office. To top it all off, the house is basically plucked from a West Elm catalog. Everything looks so damn expensive; I'm afraid to sneeze.

Derek told me this is one of the two residences owned within the city limits, besides the White House. The other is the Blair House, the guest house of the President. He says the home I'm living in now has no name because it's not to be known to the American people. I doubt this place will be kept secret for long. I told him this place is too big, but he said it'd be the safest place for me.

I haven't seen Derek since Tuesday night. He didn't stay, not that I thought he would, but he barely had five minutes to show me the house. He had to get back to the White House. I'll be seeing him in a few hours, so that is something to look forward to. We're planning dinner after the interview.

Yesterday, after work, I spent the whole evening with a woman named Fran, who was my publicity coach. She explained how I should act and what I should say in my interview. I also received a call from Derek's newly appointed crisis management manager who wanted to ask me more about my dead patients and their upset families. She asked me if I had to be a surgeon and I told her yes. Either way, the conversation wasn't great. At least Fran doesn't find me to be a complete wash.

At the end of the day, this is all very surreal. I'm not sure what to think.

I'm busy checking all the drawers in the downstairs office when my cell phone rings.

 _Alex_.

"Hey, what's up?" I ask while I pull out a book to flip through.

"So I just got home for the first time since your big announcement and I gotta say, your boyfriend wasn't wrong about the paparazzi."

I stand up straight, alert. "Are you okay?"

In typical Alex fashion, he's indifferent. "Yeah, of course. There were a lot of people shoving cameras and microphones in my face."

"How many?"

"Maybe a dozen. They kept asking who I am."

"Did you say anything?"

"No. I just kept walking."

I sit down in one of the winged chairs. "I'm so sorry Alex."

"It's cool," he says and I believe him. "Nothing I can't handle. I just thought you should know."

"Yeah. Thanks."

"So how are the new digs?"

I look around the office. The ceilings are at least thirteen feet and bookshelves run floor to ceiling. Every piece of furniture looks more expensive than my car. The rug on the floor is most definitely hand spun. The whole place is ostentatious. "It's a little over the top."

Alex laughs. " _A little_ ," he repeats. "When do I get to see it?"

I hadn't thought much about my friends visiting because it sounds like that would be against the rules, but no one told me no. So I say, "Really soon. How about this weekend?"

"Sweet. Hey, I gotta go. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"What, do you have a hot noon date?" He's quiet. "About that. You and Amelia?" I ask. "What happened to Jo?"

Alex hates talking about his relationships, or lack thereof, but he usually bends those rules for me. "Jo doesn't want me and Amelia does. I gotta go."

"You're better than this, Alex," I say.

"Bye Grey," he says and ends the call.

One day he'll see himself for who he really is and he'll stop playing these games.

\\\\\

Derek looks as nervous as I feel. We're both waiting on the sidelines while a makeup team touches us both up to be on television. It's weird seeing people putting powder on Derek's face and he doesn't seem thrilled about it. I raise my eyebrow in his direction. "Shut up," he says under his breath.

We're both dressed up: Derek in a dark gray suit with a dark blue shirt and me in a dark purple dress. My hair is half-up and fancy, much fancier than I'd ever do. I feel pretty comfortable in my clothes, so that makes this all a little better.

For the last hour, we've reviewed the interview questions at least a half dozen times. I hate that I need to be so rehearsed, but the interview is live. Derek tried to fight for a pre-recorded interview, but everyone wanted to get our side of the story out as soon as possible. I'm nervous about making a mistake, but I've been assured time and time again that it'll be fine. The one big rule is minimal touching, which may be the hardest to stick to. We can touch hands and arms and shoulders, but no legs or knees. Nothing overtly sexual. I made a joke about Derek's knees being his most sexual part and no one found it funny. The next thing I heard was, "Please, no jokes."

A few more minutes of preening and then the door opens. I notice Diane Sawyer right away. She makes a beeline towards Derek and me.

"Mr. President," she says first. "It's an honor to meet you."

"You as well Ms. Sawyer."

"Please, call me Diane." She smiles warmly and then turns to be. "And our hero, Doctor Grey."

"Meredith is just fine," I say and shake her hand. "Very nice to meet you."

"And you." She sizes us up. "Well you certainly look good together."

Derek and I share a look. He turns back to Diane and says, "It makes the job easier for my team," he says graciously.

Diane laughs. "It certainly does. Well, are you ready to sit down?"

"Yes," I say first, trying to sound completely confident.

Derek and I sit next to each other on the yellow couch in the Oval. Diane sits cross-legged across from us in the high winged white chair. She looks comfortable and confident in a dark blue suit. I cross one leg over the other and my foot grazes the back of Derek's calf. He glances at me with a half-smile. "You could still back out, you know."

I reach over and slide my hand along his. "Are you trying to push me away, Mr. President?"

"None of that Mr. President stuff tonight," he says close to my ear.

My eyes flutter closed with his breath on me. Now is _not_ the time to get turned on.

I release his hand. "Fine. Later, then."

He winks.

"Okay," the producer says, stepping front and center. "We have just about a minute. I'll count you in. If you get tripped up or begin to stumble, we'll throw it back to Diane. Take a breath and start again." She looks at me and I have a feeling everyone in the room thinks I'll screw up, not Derek.

I nod.

I take a deep breath and the next minute rushes by. The producer counts, "Five, four, three," and then she motions two and one to Diane and then it's go time.

"Good evening. Tonight we have a very special sit down with the newly inaugurated President, Derek Shepherd. Not since the Cleveland administration have we had a President dating. Tonight I sit down with President Shepherd and the doctor who saved him, Meredith Grey, as they discuss, for the very first time and in their own words, their relationship and how they're making it work between two very high-powered and public careers." She pauses and looks our way.

The cameras are officially on us. "Thank you both for having me here tonight."

"We're happy to have you here," Derek says. He does this all the time. He shouldn't be nervous.

I just smile.

Diane rolls with the punches. "So first and foremost, how does it feel to be public?"

Derek looks to me. I have to say something. It's in the "script" which isn't so much a script, but a guideline. I swallow deeply and hope the mic doesn't pick it up. "Scary," I admit, which was actually one of the suggested answers.

Diane laughs. "I can only imagine. For you, Doctor Grey, you didn't hope for this life. How many factors did you consider before coming forward?"

I look to Derek. "A lot. Honestly, we're still trying to work through all the details. There's a lot to consider."

"Oh absolutely," Derek says, taking the focus off me. "I'm to expect some scrutiny, but Meredith's job isn't under the magnifying glass and she never expected to have to answer for her job. Of course some of the recent comments make it hard on her."

I know he's talking about the ones about family members I've killed. This wasn't in the script. At least not mine.

Diane doesn't seem fazed, though. "Yes, let's talk about that for a second. Did you expect family members to come forward and speak about their loved ones after you went public?"

I don't know how to answer without sounding biases or like a thoughtless machine. Derek steps in again, "I don't think either of us considered it, right?"

"No, definitely not," I agree.

"Meredith is a strong, incredible surgeon and the thought that individuals who lost their loved ones would lash out feels unfair. Of course I wasn't there, but having been under Doctor Grey's care, I know she's an attentive, compassionate doctor. She feels each one of her deaths personally." Derek looks over at me and I have no idea what's happening. This wasn't part of the script.

"Well let's talk about when you were under Doctor Grey's care. Meredith, what were your initial thoughts when you were told you who your patient was."

Now this I can speak to. I take a deep breath which leads into me saying, "Shocked. I was done for the day, having come off a long, tiring shift, and I was ready to go. And then my Chief of Surgery tells me I have to head to the ER. I tried to talk him out of it and then he said it was Derek—the President—who has been shot and everything changed."

"Were you nervous in the operating room?"

"Of course. I always feel a bit of nerves before I cut, but this was so different."

"But you saved him," Diane states.

I glance over at Derek. He's smiling, but I know he doesn't want to talk about any of this.

"I did my job and very luckily did it well that day."

"I have to say, she's a very strict doctor. There were all kinds of rules."

"Only for you," I tell Derek. "You were a terrible patient."

Derek grins at me and the flirting feels effortless despite all the cameras. I look back towards the crew and everyone is smiling. We must be doing well. "We're going to take a short break," Diane says, "but when we come back, we'll hear more about those first few days after the President was shot and then how this fairytale romance began. We'll see you in a few minutes."

The producer holds her fist in the air for a few seconds and then releases. "We have three minutes," she says.

"You're both doing great," Diane says. "That bit at the end was perfect."

"Thank you," Derek says. He turns to me when Diane beings speaking with her producer and quietly says, "I'm sorry about bringing up the patient family thing."

"Why did you?"

"I hate that people are attacking you about it."

"There was one comment, Derek, and now you stirred the pot."

He looks uncomfortable. "I wasn't okay with the comment."

"I know you were trying to be my knight in shining whatever, but please don't bring it up again, okay?"

Derek's quiet for a second and then he agrees, "Okay."

Our makeup is touched up and I'm feeling a little thrown off. I don't expect Derek to change the script again because he knows I'm uncomfortable without it. I just want everything to go smoothly.

We're counted down after the break and Diane dives right back in, discussing Derek's time at the hospital. I speak to his remarkable recovery and he speaks to his remarkable stay. Derek reaches out and touches my hand once, opening the door for more physical contact. When Diane asks us to explain how we fell into our relationship, I reach over and touch Derek's forearm. He starts us off.

"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't interested even from my hospital bed, but we had to work together in a professional manner."

"I was too busy making sure he wasn't working to notice him."

"Oh, ouch," Derek says with a smile.

"I'm sorry, but I was busy saving your life."

"So when did it change?" Diane asks.

"The State Dinner," we both say at once and then laugh.

Diane smiles. "The end of February then."

"Yes," Derek answers. "We had a few moments alone and I declared myself, but neither of us were ready for this step yet."

"Now you're just trying to be nice," I say. "I wasn't ready. Derek would've told everyone the next day if I had let him. But I wasn't ready for any of it, so we kept our distance."

"She _tried_ to keep her distance," Derek says. "I made it hard."

"He did sort of show up everywhere."

" _Not_ everywhere. Just one place once."

I roll my eyes. "The point is, I wasn't ready."

"But you are now?" Diane asks.

Derek takes my hand and I realize I needed it. "I am ready now," I say with confidence.

The interview fills the full hour. We talk a lot about the future. Diane dives deep, bringing up future plans including marriage and kids and neither of us are ready to even discuss those steps. As Derek says, "We plan to date. It's enough to fit into our schedules," which I agree to very quickly.

At the end, I feel happy with the results. I didn't screw anything up and Diane seems pleases. We end the show and she shakes both our hands and thanks us. Her team begins cleaning up and quickly the room goes from news central to an empty room once more. It's late and I should be getting back to my monster house, but I haven't been alone with Derek in almost two days. We're supposed to have dinner, but I'm not feeling very hungry. I lean against this desk and Derek stares at me from the doorway. He looks hot.

"That went well," he says.

"You think?"

"Yeah, don't you?"

I nod. "Yeah."

"Are you still mad about the patient thing?"

I think about the question. I am mad.

"Come here," I tell him.

Derek crosses the room with his hands in his pockets. When he reaches me, I begin untying his tie. Derek doesn't move a muscle.

"When Lily spoke with Anderson Cooper the other day, she said we were a team." I pull the longer portion of the tie through the knot at his throat, loosening it. "I don't feel like a team when you pull shit like that."

"Meredith—" Derek interrupts.

"You made me look weak tonight."

"That wasn't my intention."

"I know, but you did." I glance up at him. "We're a unit. I can't do this if I don't have you on my side and you're not on my side when you change the plan. And it's not even about the plan. I lose patients often and telling their families is the hardest part of the job." I untie the rest of his tie and pull it through his collar. "You have no idea what that's like. Killing someone on your operating table and then telling the family you did everything you could. You have no idea.

"I appreciate you standing up for me, but please don't do it again. Because I'm not weak and if something needed to be said, I would've said it."

A few moments of silence pass. I fold Derek's tie in my lap. When I'm finished, he takes the tie and lifts my chin so I'm looking directly at him. "I'm sorry. I'm protective and sometimes I take things to heart. We are a partnership and I don't want to detract from that. I won't bring it up again."

"Thank you."

We share a slow kiss. It's an apology. Another apology and it feels needed. It's also needed because the last few days have been strange and the one thing that feels completely normal is kissing Derek. Suddenly I'm not so tired. Derek's arms lock like a vice behind my back and my hands fist his hair. There's a camera above us, so I pull away enough to press my forehead against his. I look up. "Not here," I tell him.

Seconds later, Derek has my hand in his and he's looking both ways down the hallway. There are tons of passageways to his private quarters, but I'm guessing I don't yet have clearance. Derek darts into the hallway with me in tow and we run. He looks back at me with a big grin on his face and I feel like I'm finally seeing the true Derek Shepherd.

We reach his bedroom and I expect him to rip off my dress, but suddenly everything slows down again. Derek's hands slide over my hips and once again he locks his hands behind my back. He grins at me before leaning down and kissing me. I return the kiss, but only for a second before he pulls away again. His hands slide up my back to my zipper. He tosses my hair over one shoulder and slowly begins to unzip me. I can practically feel each tooth releasing beneath the zipper.

As he slides the dress from my body, his fingers draw slowly up and down my spine, causing me to shiver. I reach out and take Derek's forearms to steady myself. He grins at me.

I step out of the dress, leaving only a black bra, a pair of light blue panties, and black heels; I clearly wasn't trying to match when I got dressed earlier. I expect Derek to immediately take me to bed, but he doesn't. He just stares at me. I don't feel self-conscious at all. He nods to my chest, "Your bra," he says. His voice is thick with desire. I unhook my bra and watch as it tumbles to the ground. I want nothing more than for Derek to be touching me.

It feels like hours pass before he makes his move. Derek walks closer to me, still fully dressed save for his tie. His hands are in his pockets. I can't even remember why I was mad at him moments ago. Derek kicks my bra out of his way and then slides down onto his knees in front of me. Instantly I'm more turned on then I've ever been. He kisses the front of my panties and I gasp so loudly I feel like I might fall backwards. His hands slide up my outer thighs and to my butt, where he squeezes me tightly. "Derek," I whisper once and then suddenly my panties are gone and his mouth is on me.

The next few minutes, maybe hours for all I know, are bliss. I've never felt more desired in my entire life.

* * *

 **Thank you to: CileSuns92, Kate, , Annie, ForeverMerDer, greyhouses, JLamb, Jackie, ntlpupolia, MeredithRobbins, Hasi2012, xxxjoxxx, Harryfan626, merderfan1, , flawless pompeo, Pat, gguest, Katevan, Patsy, two harts, Hitam1, Semper Paratus, mandyg67, Painting-York, Million Candles, and three guests.  
**


	21. Friends

**AN: As always, I more than appreciate your comments on the last chapter. I am _so_ glad you're enjoying this story and I'm excited to share what comes next. I have some awesome plans for the next few updates, laying out the groundwork for some big stuff, so I hope you stick around to read it! Please leave a comment and let me know what you think.**

 **Cheers!**

* * *

I'm charting in the tunnels beneath the hospital when I notice the Chief standing in the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest. "Hi Chief," I say as I set down my pen and give him my undivided attention.

"Charting?" he asks.

"I have a lot of catch up to do."

He nods and ventures further into the tunnel. "Do you have a minute?"

"Of course, sir."

"Right now, I'm your stepfather."

Immediately I relax as Doctor Grey, but my thoughts are heightened as Meredith. If he were the Chief right now, I could be reprimanded, but since he's Richard, it means it's probably about my mother. "What happened?" I ask.

He looks down at his feet and takes a deep breath. "She had an episode last night."

"Okay. How bad?"

"Pretty bad." He slides his hands into his pockets. "We were having dinner and everything was fine until it wasn't. One second we were talking and the next she asked me if I had finally left Adele. I knew immediately what had happened. I reminded her I did leave Adele and we've been married for decades, but she told me she didn't believe me. She got emotional and kept asking how she was supposed to raise a daughter alone and no matter what I said she didn't remember."

I feel my palms sweating. "How long did it last?"

"Over an hour. I called Doctor Morgan afterwards and she said the length of the event is a bad sign. Ellis is probably going to start deteriorating quickly."

"So what does that mean?"

Richard takes a long time to answer. I want to ask at least a dozen times what he's thinking, but I give him time. Of course I have a say in my mother's care, but he's her husband and whatever decision he makes will change their lives. Finally, he says, "I'm planning to retire and care for your mother full-time."

"Retire?" I ask.

He nods. "It's time and not just because of your mother. I'm ready to retire and I have the resources, so now's the time."

"Who will take over as Chief?"

"Bailey," he says confidently. "She's back on her feet and she's back to being Bailey in the OR. After I gave you the Chief of General role, Chief of Surgery only felt right for Miranda. I was waiting until she was back to being Bailey and now seems like the time."

"Are you sure you want this? If Doctor Morgan is right about Mom's diagnosis, it could be really hard on you." I try to consider being as selfless and I know I can't. Maybe it's because I'm still so new to my career; I don't have decades beneath my belt like Richard and my mom. I couldn't give it all up.

"It's impossible either way. However, this way she doesn't need to be in a home and at least for a little while, we can do some traveling and she can keep giving talks. Eventually all of that will have to stop. Being with her full-time will give her more time to be Ellis."

Richard has always been good to my mother and to me, even though I'm not really his. Even so, he's my father, but I've never been more proud to be called his daughter until this moment. I climb from the gurney and walk over to him, still shocked by his height. I lean in and wrap my arms around his waist. I've probably hugged him a handful of times, but this moment deserves a hug. He squeezes me tightly. "Thank you," I whisper.

He releases a breath. "You're welcome."

\\\\\

My day is long and hard. After Richard's confession, I have back-to-back surgeries and I lose the second patient—a fifty-year-old woman with three children under the age of twenty. As soon as I tell the family, I wonder if they'll also publicly shame me. It's all I think about now after losing a patient; will I pay for this later? I hate thinking that way and no matter how I try, the thoughts linger.

I need a distraction and luckily my friends are coming to my new house for the first time. Cristina and Alex are on booze duty, while Callie and Arizona are slated to bring food. I've heard a rumor Owen might come along with April and Jackson, but those two rarely keep a promise. I don't care how many people we have as long as Cristina and Alex are there.

I meet Toby in the private entrance and he drives me home. Toby is my official driver and guard now.

"I'm having some friends over tonight," I tell him.

"Alright. How many?"

"Um…" I pause and count. "Possibly seven, but for sure four."

Toby turns past the White House and I look towards the bright building, wondering what Derek's up to. We haven't been texting today, but I was busy and I'm sure he was, too. "If you could leave me the names, that would be helpful."

"Of course," I agree. "Can they come to the front door or should they arrive through the garage?"

"The front door should be fine, but I'd ask for you to bring them inside right away. We'd like to avoid causing a scene."

"Okay."

I never thought this would be my life and the real issue is, I never wanted this to be my life. I like the idea of my friends just coming and going, my house having an open door for them, but that's no longer a possibility. I miss having a roommate. I miss living with Alex, to be honest. He's a good roommate and he always knows how to balance me. I'd love to have Alex move in, but I'm assuming since it was never offered, that's not really an option. But it's a small price to pay to be in a happy relationship with Derek.

When we arrive home, Toby drives into the underground garage and he waits with me while the elevator arrives. There are two other black, unmarked cars parked in the garage, which I'm assuming are at the ready should I need to go somewhere. I haven't driven in days, which just feels weird. My car isn't parked here because I think Derek believes I'll go joyriding one day. My car is parked in a "safe place," as Derek told me, whatever that means.

Once upstairs, Toby leaves to monitor the cameras that surround the house and I get myself ready to have my friends over.

\\\\\

"And another one," Callie says, raising her shot glass high in the air. "To this awesome house and the awesome President."

I roll my eyes but down the shot anyway. The tequila burns on its way down. "Can we not mention the President again? He's just Derek."

"Just Derek," Cristina repeats with a laugh. "Just Derek gave you a freaking mansion. Just Owen doesn't give me shit. Not even surgeries. He had a big trauma come in today and he needed a cardio consult and he paged Miller. _Miller_ ," Cristina says like it's a bad word.

"You were in surgery," Arizona defends Owen and immediately Cristina's shooting eye daggers at Arizona. She holds up her hands in defeat, "Fine, fine. I won't say a thing."

Alex starts pouring more shots. "Just Amelia gives me things. Like sex," he says and begins doling out the shots.

"Yeah and venereal diseases," Cristina says under her breath.

"Amelia gave you an STD?" I ask.

"No, she didn't," he says and glares at Cristina. "I'm clean."

"Now you are. Does no one remember Olivia?"

"Shut it, Yang," Alex says and holds up his shot. "What should we toast to?"

I look around the room, trying to find something good that has nothing to do with the house, or Derek, or my security guard—all the things we've already cheers to. Luckily, Arizona jumps in and says, "To not killing anyone today."

"Oh yeah," Callie agrees.

"I'll cheers to that," adds Alex.

I don't tell them I did, in fact, kill a patient today.

We throw back our shots.

My friends have been here for almost an hour. Owen might still show up, Cristina claims, but they've been so up and down lately I doubt it. Alex invited some scrub nurse named Cassie he's sleeping with, but refused to talk about Jo or Amelia with me when I brought it up. As he insists, "Amelia lives in New York, so there's nothing there." I leave him alone because he doesn't like when I'm overbearing. The scrub nurse has blown him off anyway. I haven't heard from Jackson and April, so I'm guessing it'll just be us five, which I'm more than happy about.

When everyone arrived, after having been vetted by Toby, I gave the grand tour and to be honest, the whole situation made me uncomfortable. This house isn't _my_ house. It's a house that I just happen to be sleeping in between surgeries. My stuff has been brought over from _my_ house, but the place still feels weird. Alex pinpointed my reservations about the house right away; he said: "It smells weird. Like everything is new and no one lives here. It smells like a hotel."

Everyone seemed to agree.

Now all I can see is a hotel, from the generic paintings on the wall to the plethora of table lamps and arm chairs to sit in. Currently we're all gathered in the parlor because it's a ridiculous room and we each have our own light blue wing-backed chair. Cristina has her feet up on the coffee table, which probably costs more than my car.

"So, now what?" Cristina asks. I look at everyone else before I look at Cristina, thinking she's talking to someone else. When I look at her, she's staring back at me. "What, me?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah, Cristina's right. What now?" Arizona asks as she leans forward to dip a chip in some salsa.

"I don't know," I say honestly.

"You guys don't have plans?" Callie asks.

I tuck my one leg underneath myself and run my finger along the lip of my shot glass. "Making plans feels like an excuse to break plans. With Derek's schedule and mine, we can't really rely on plans."

" _That_ sounds like an excuse," Cristina says.

She's right; it does. "We haven't really discussed it." I feel backed into a corner. Everyone is staring at me and I just want to be drinking with my friends. "Can we _please_ not talk about any of it? Can we pretend everything is normal?"

I expect them to fight me on it, but Cristina is the first to shrug and say, "Sure."

"How's your clinical trial going, Meredith?" Arizona asks.

"I haven't spent a lot of time on it lately, but it's been okay. My mom's gotten interested in the trial again, so she's been doing some work on it."

"Seriously? You're letting your mom take over?" Alex asks. He motions for my shot glass and I give it to him.

"No, she's not taking over. She's just re-reading her notes from back then."

"But if she did want back in, would you tell her no?"

I've thought about the idea of my mom wanting back in on her clinical trial a lot. The fact of the matter is, it is _her_ trial that I took over. I tell my friends just that. "It's her trial and she has every right to jump back in. It might be time anyway, since she's not traveling so much."

"I always thought it was so surprisingly that your mom traveled instead of cut. She seemed like a surgeon first and always."

"She is," I argue.

"But she hasn't cut in months." Callie says.

"Maybe even a year," Arizona says.

I haven't told my friends about my mom. I've hinted and tried to see if they'd pick it up themselves so I wouldn't be completely outing my mother, but I've kept my mouth shut. We've had a least a half dozen of these conversations and every time I want to just get it out—tell them exactly what's been happening. But I never do because I feel badly about what might happen if they tell someone else.

But now everyone might know in just a matter of days. If the news outlets start digging, they'll probably uncover the truth about my mom very quickly. I should be the one to tell my friends, not some gossipy news anchor.

I throw back the shot Alex poured and hold out my glass. "Another," I tell him.

Alex raises his eyebrows. "Seriously?"

"Yes."

Arizona and Callie share a look.

I take the shot.

I lean forward and place my elbows on my knees and look at each one of their faces. "I have something to tell you guys. About my mother."

No one says anything at all.

I look down at my hands and say, "My mom has Alzheimer's."

Cristina's feet drop from the coffee table. She's the first to ask, "How advanced?"

"Very. Richard's retiring to take care of her."

"Richard's retiring?" Callie asks.

"He hasn't announced it yet, but he is."

"How long have you known?" Alex asks.

"Almost a year. She was diagnosed last June and the doctor then said she probably had about one good year left and after that she'd need nearly constant care. That's why she stopped operating. She was in surgery and she couldn't remember any of the names for the organs she was looking at. She froze and suddenly couldn't remember the scrub nurse to her left or the man across the table from her. Her scrub nurse was Liz Fallon and the man across the table was Richard. She's known them both for more than thirty years."

You could hear a pin drop.

I keep going because when I'm nervous, I babble. "She asked me not to tell anyone. She wanted to be involved in the community for as long as possible, which is why she's been writing books and traveling. I think that's why she's taken an interest in her clinical trial work again. The days she cares about it are the days she thinks she's in her early thirties again."

"Oh Meredith, I'm so sorry," Arizona says compassionately. She eyes look the same way as when she delivers bad news to parents of the tiny humans.

"I figured now is the time to tell you because it might be in the news soon and I'd rather you hear it from me. Also, when the Chief retires, you should know why."

"Do you know who his replacement will be?" Cristina asks.

"Bailey," Callie says. "It'd have to be Bailey."

"It's Bailey," I admit.

By this point my head is spinning and the booze is starting to make me feel a little sluggish and impaired. I mostly listen while my friends further discuss the Chief retiring. I notice they barely mention my mother and with each passing of her name, they glance my way. We keep drinking and eventually the conversation moves into something more upbeat—ragging on our interns and residents. I'm happy to be more involved in the conversation and to not be thinking about what the future may hold for my family.

Alex is telling a particularly funny story about his intern tripping and falling on a bunch of blood bags when I hear a loud ding behind me. I turn and just as my eyes focus on the elevator, the doors open and Derek is standing there. I'm not the only one who notices because suddenly everyone shuts up.

"Derek," I say and I can hear my slurred speech.

He grins at me. "It smells like a bar in here." He walks into the parlor and I stay seated, but suddenly all my friends are standing. I look up at them incredulously. "Please, you don't need to stand," he says as he reaches my chair and my friends sit back down. Derek leans down and says, "Hi," before kissing me softly.

"Hi," I grin as he pulls away.

"You're drunk," he says.

"Verrrrrrrrryyyy."

Derek slides his hand along my shoulders before turning to my friends. "Now, Alex Karev I know, but I haven't met the rest of you."

Callie stands and extends her hand. "Callie Torres. Orthopedics."

"He doesn't need your specialty," Cristina says underneath her breath.

"No, it's fine," Derek says kindly and shakes Callie's hand. "I'd love to hear what you do."

"Arizona Robbins, pediatrics."

"Arizona like the state or the battleship?"

Arizona looks impressed. "The battleship."

Derek motions between Arizona and Alex. "So you're both in pediatrics?"

"She's my boss," Alex says and shakes Derek's hand. "Good to see you, sir."

I know Cristina wants to call him a kiss ass, but she holds her tongue. Derek smiles at Cristina fondly. "And you must be Cristina." He holds out his hand.

"Cristina Yang. Cardio."

Derek steps back and puts in hands in his pockets. "It's not nice to finally meet you all. Meredith says nice things."

"No I don't."

Everyone laughs uncomfortably, probably because Derek laughs. Cristina is definitely having no part of this and she just rolls her eyes at my dumb joke. "So are we celebrating or…?" Derek lets the sentence die because the or would be death.

"Celebrating," Arizona says.

"Definitely celebrating," Callie chimes in.

"Well in that case, do you mind if I borrow my girlfriend for a second?"

"Not at all," Callie says. I can tell her and Arizona are trying so hard to impress Derek. No, not Derek—the President.

Derek holds out his hand to me and I climb from the chair, following him from the room. I look over my shoulder as I go and immediately my friends are whispering to one another. Derek leads me into the kitchen, where the lights have been dimmed. I learned all the lights are on timers in this house and sometimes they dim at the weirdest moments. I keep forgetting to ask how I change the pre-sets.

I expect Derek to say something, but the first thing he does is give me a searing kiss. I am definitely drunk and definitely horny, so I kiss him back and grip his sides tightly. He smiles against my mouth and pulls away. "Your friends are here."

"I can make them leave."

"You taste like a college frat party."

I run my hand down the front of his pants. "I'm a real easy lay right now."

Derek laughs and steps back from me. I nearly topple backwards, leaning back into the countertop. "You are dangerous right now. I'm sorry to have just shown up. I called twice and you didn't answer, so I showed up. I didn't know you had friends over."

"It's okay. They're my family, so they needed to meet you."

I hiccup.

Derek grins. "You are so drunk."

I know I probably look like shit so I ask, "Do you still find my attractive when I'm a sloppy mess?"

"I'll always find you attractive."

It's a nice moment. A moment that had I been sober, I'd melt at. I take a deep sigh and my eyes feel heavy. I feel Derek's arm wrap around my waist. "Should I ask your friends to leave?"

"No! No, I want them here."

"Okay. Promise me you won't drink too much more." He kisses my cheek.

I grip his upper arms. "I promise." The words taste funny in my mouth.

"Well I should go then. Let you have your night with your friends."

"No! Stay." My eyes are now wide open and I'm fully alert. Drunk, but alert. "Stay. Get to know them."

"Are you sure?" Derek asks.

"Yes, come on."

Derek and I walk back into the room and everyone jumps back from the tight little whisper circle they had going on. Only Arizona looks embarrassed. Derek grabs a chair. "I'm going to join you if that's okay."

I wait for someone to say it's okay and Alex does, in his own Alex way. "Do you want a shot?"

For a second Derek pauses, glances at me, and then says, "Sure."

There's something kind of amazing about watching my boyfriend—the first my friends have ever met—interacting with the people who are most important to me. Alex is especially welcoming, which I think has to do with the fact that he's met Derek on several occasions. Callie and Arizona are nice and ask dozens of questions and Cristina is a nice enough. She pushes Derek, asking him about his presidency and what he hopes to accomplish and while I expect Derek to turn her away, he graciously answers.

I feel a warm tingle in my stomach watching my two lives colliding. I knew it was going to happen eventually, but I'm glad it's going to well. Derek looks over at me a few times and squeezes my hand or my knee. He looks happy. And I'm happy because it seems like Derek likes my friends.


	22. POTUS

**AN: I am so happy with the positive feedback on the last part. I'm really, truly happy to hear your thoughts on Ellis and how you're all enjoying her story line. Ellis's part of this story is important and lays some groundwork for future parts. I know the bit with Derek and Meredith's friends was a short, but there's a little more at the beginning of this section. I had a blast writing this first part. Enjoy!**

* * *

I'm walking down the hallway towards the kitchen the next morning, hungover to high heaven, when I hear Cristina ask from the kitchen, "You get any sleep last night?"

"Oh, jealous?" Alex asks.

"I'm not jealous."

"Well, I am. But at least I know she'll be having a long day," Alex says with a laugh.

I'm too hungover to go a minute more without coffee, so I trudge into the kitchen. "Hi. Good morning."

"Hey, so it sounds like you were having some pretty radical sex last night, all night long."

Callie walks into the kitchen looking refreshed. "Morning," she says brightly. She's followed closely by Arizona, who also looks well-rested.

"Who was having sex?" Arizona asks.

"Meredith and Derek. Very loudly," Alex adds.

"Do tell," Callie says.

I grab a coffee mug from the cabinet. "Nothing to tell."

"That says it all, huh?" Arizona says with a wink.

Alex slides up next to me and gets the first cup of coffee. "Embrace it. Share it," he says with a grin.

Derek walks into the kitchen looking not nearly as bad as I feel. He stops abruptly when he sees the five of us pouring out cups of coffee. "Morning," he says and walks over to grab his own cup. "Well this is cozy."

"Wait, how didn't you hear them?" Cristina asks.

"Hear who?" Derek asks. Alex is the first to give Derek a look and realization floods his face. "Oh. Got it."

"Please for the love of god give me coffee," I beg.

Cristina fills up my cup. "If I had known your sexual escapades sounded like _that_ , I would've gone home to my own bed in my quiet apartment."

"Oh yes, and endured the silent fight with Owen all night? Not likely."

Cristina says nothing.

"You're cranky," Alex says.

"Piss off."

"Okay kids, let's not fight," Callie chimes in. She looks at Derek as if he might be offended by Alex and me squabbling.

"We should probably get going," Arizona says. "I have a surgery in an hour."

"Me, too," says Alex.

Cristina takes a sip of coffee and then says, "I have no surgeries this morning, but maybe someone is having a heart attack right now. That would be good."

Derek raises an eyebrow.

"Don't ask," I tell him.

I walk my friends to the door and say quick goodbyes since I'll see them in a couple of hours. I head back towards the kitchen and meet Derek in the middle. He's already dressed for the day and his hair is still damp from his shower. I'm pretty sure I look like a pile of hot trash.

"So they spent the night?" Derek asks.

I try to think back to last night and when I told him my friends were going to sleep over, but I can't find the conversation. I can't even remember saying goodnight to them all. "They were all too drunk to drive."

Derek nods. "Okay."

"Why does that 'okay' sound like I did something wrong?"

"Well this house isn't really equipped for you to have houseguests."

"What do you mean? This place has a million guest bedrooms." Derek says nothing for a minute and I reprocess his words. "Wait, what do you mean for _me_ to have houseguests? Do you mean I'm just not allowed to have people over?"

"You are," he says quickly, "but you need approval."

"From who?"

Derek winces like he wishes I hadn't asked that question.

I realize from whom I need approval. "From you," I say.

"Sort of," he says sheepishly.

I mull over the thought of anyone deciding when I can and can't have people over and I very quickly say, "There's no way in hell I'm running my houseguests past you."

"Meredith," he says.

"No way, Derek," I continue.

"I know it sucks and it seems overbearing of me—"

"Overbearing? That's putting it lightly. Why the hell do you think you need to approve my friends coming over?"

"We have to be careful. If the press catches wind that you're staying here, we'll have to move you again and I'm sure you don't want that."

"Why?"

Derek shakes his head. "Why, what?"

"Why would you need to move me? Celebrities' houses are always known by the press and they don't move. Why is it any different for me?"

"Because your safety is a matter of security. If someone realized going through you is a way to get to me, then they might use that angle and go after you. We can't have that and I don't want to have armed guards here twenty-four seven. I want you to live as normal of a life as possible. I don't want you to feel like you don't have any power over your life."

"So let me get this straight: you move me out of my childhood home, the home I love and you put me in this huge, hotel-like mansion, and you don't want my friends coming over unless I let you know. BUT you want my life to be normal. Derek, none of this is normal."

Derek seems to deflate in front of me. "Do you really hate this house so much?"

"It's empty. It's me and a million empty rooms. I feel like I'm being shut in."

"What would you need to make this place feel more like home?"

I don't want to sound like I'm being difficult, but if I had a choice, I would not live in this place for another second. I don't feel like I can tell Derek that, though. So instead I take the coward's route. "Can you just agree with me that it's ridiculous that I have to run visitors past you? That would make me feel better."

Derek doesn't even pause to consider. "Yes, alright."

"Alright."

"Can we be done fighting now?" he asks with a little grin.

"Sure."

"Good, because I'm going to kiss you now." And he does and everything feels okay again.

\\\\\

A few days later, Derek walks from his bathroom and into the bedroom, adjusting his bowtie as he goes. He smells good—fresh and clean. "How do I look?" he asks.

I finish putting a very expensive, very borrowed, earring into my ear and turn to face him. Derek's in another tuxedo, which to me always look the same. But he wears it well. His tie is a little crooked. I hold up my dress and cross the room, stopping before him to adjust his tie. "You look very Presidential."

"I was hoping for hot."

I laugh. "Yes, you look hot."

"Well so do you," he says and reaches out to take my hips in his hands.

In the last few months, I've worn more ball gowns than ever before. No normal person needs a ball gown, but I have a closetful now. However this one might be my favorite. The dress is Valentino, which my beauty team made sure I remember. The dress is blue, but not dark blue, but a beautiful light sapphire blue—a dark cerulean, I've been told. The dress is strapless and starting at the bust, there's a gold star burst, creating beautiful lines of gold all the way down the dress. It feels very whimsical and I love it.

My hair has been tied back in a complicated half-updo. The earrings, as mentioned, are thousands of dollars and the bracelet on my wrist is tens of thousands of dollars. I'm trying not to puke thinking about losing them.

Derek runs his hands over my butt and draws me close. "Very, very hot," he says against my ear.

I push him away. "Oh no. _This_ ," I motion my hand up and down my body, "took hours. _Hours_ , Derek. You will not touch me until the end of the night."

Derek grins. "But I _can_ touch you at the end of the night."

"Maybe."

He looks wounded.

I give him a little grin.

There's a knock at the door. Derek crosses the room to answer it. "It's time, Mr. President," some woman I don't know says. She glances into the room and smiles at me. "You look beautiful, Doctor Grey."

I feel like I should curtsy. "Thank you."

Derek holds his arm out to me. "Ready?"

I take a deep breath and say, "Yes," before taking his arm.

Derek and I walk down the long hallway to an elevator. I'm trying to hide my nerves. "What's this event for again?"

"Huntington's Disease Society of America."

"And you said the point isn't to raise money?"

"No. Since the organization is a non-profit, I can't have an event to raise money, but I can make people aware of the organization and the disease. We did some research and people aren't very familiar with the disease and we'd like to bring them more to the forefront. I thought this would be a good first public appearance together since it's in regards to medicine."

I nod. "I worked with a woman last year who had Huntington's."

"How is she?" Derek asks.

I just shake my head no.

"Exactly why we should be talking about it," he says.

The elevator indicates we're on our floor with a ding and I tense up. "Are you okay?" Derek asks.

"You promise not to leave me, right?"

Derek grins at me. "I swear it."

When the elevator doors open, there's a long row of people waiting for us. At first I think they're with the Huntington's organization, but then I realize they're White House staff. I hold up my dress as we walk down another hallway towards the dining room. There are so many rooms in the White House created just for events or guests, but the guest dining room is one of the more intimate rooms. I've been told only forty or so people can comfortably dine together, so I'm sure this room was chosen to have a more intimate event. Of course the press will be there, which is exactly what an organization like this needs to gain notoriety.

We pause outside the double doors. Derek squeezes my arm against his side. "Don't worry. Everyone will be nice."

I release the breath I'm holding. "Okay."

The doors open up after Derek gives the two attendants holding the doorknobs a nod. We walk into the room and are greeted by guests who are standing all around the room, giving us a round of applause. I didn't know walking into a room would ever be cause for applause, at least for me. Derek waves to the crowd, but I'm not sure if I'm supposed to. I feel Derek looking at me and he gives me a small nod, so I begin to wave, too. The flashbulbs from the White House press go wild, especially when Derek looks at me again. I know he's sort of playing a game, but it doesn't bother me. It's what he's supposed to do.

Eventually the clapping dies down and Derek releases my arm. "Thank you all for being here," he says casually to the group—no podium, no microphone—just him. I stand off to the side. "Tonight has nothing to do with me and everything to do with the wonderful people at the Huntington's Disease Society of America. Tonight we hope to shed some light on this incredible organization and help to find a cure, or at the very least, make those who are diagnosed with the disease's lives better. So please, be prepared for me to ask too many questions," people laugh, "and please feel free to enjoy a drink and some conversation before dinner."

Everyone claps again.

Derek smiles at me and I'm at his side again.

We begin meeting people who work for the organization and some guests who have the disease. I think back to my patient, Lila, who just wanted to go to Brazil and live the rest of her life to the fullest before the full impact of the disease came down upon her. She was one of the few patients I kept in contact with, so when I suddenly stopped hearing from her, I knew something was wrong. Huntington's didn't kill her; a plane crash did. I can't help but think that's probably the way she'd rather go.

The people in this room today, no matter how severe the disease is for them, are all positive and happy. I watch Derek shaking hands and greeting people. He's kind and patient, listening to each individual. They're happy because meeting the President is an honor. It's something to make you happy. I realize I never had that moment with Derek. One moment he was newly inaugurated and the next he was bleeding from his chest and dying on my table.

I greet as many people as possible, shaking hands and listening to stories. People seem genuinely excited to meet me. It's a strange feeling. We make our way to the other side of the table and I see a little girl in a wheelchair. She's smiling at me. I give her a smile and presumably, her mother, wheels her over. "We're sorry to cut in line," the mother says, despite there being no line, "but Allison really wanted to meet you."

Regardless of the expensive dress, I drop down to my knees in front of the little girl. "Hi Allison."

"Hi," she says brightly.

"What grade are you in?"

"Third."

I glance up at her mom. "I bet you're the smartest one in the class."

Allison laughs.

"It's okay to be the smartest. I was the smartest, too."

"You became a doctor," she says.

"I did."

"I want to be a doctor when I grow up."

"Really? What kind of doctor?"

Allison thinks for a minute. When I was her age, I barely knew what a surgeon was and I lived with two of them. Children don't often think about surgeons unless they've had to have surgery. I believe Allison knows all too well what the inside of an OR looks like. So when she says, "Surgeon," I'm not surprised.

"What kind of surgeon? Hearts? Brains? Or the kind of surgery I do—which is the rest of the body. Making sure the other organs aren't sick or fixing them when they are."

"That kind," she says.

I nod. "So general surgery. A lot of people think being a general surgeon means you just take out appendixes all day, but there's a lot more to it. I help people who have diseases, too. Like Huntington's." I glance up at Allison's mom. She gives me a sad nod, confirming her daughter is sick. "When you grow up, you can help people like yourself."

"I want to find a cure." My eyes begin to water and I give her a nod, trying to keep it together. "You will," I tell her, although I wonder how much longer she has. "I am so happy I got to meet you."

"Me, too. You look like a princess," she says with a little laugh.

I laugh, too. "I'm a princess tonight, but in the operating room," I say the next part quietly, "I'm a badass."

Allison just grins at me.

I give her hand a squeeze and I stand up. "When was she diagnosed?" I ask the mother.

"Two years ago. It's progressing really rapidly. We have her on every medicine in the book."

"Tetrabenazine?"

She nods.

"Neuroleptics?"

"Yes. And remacemide, antiparkinsonian drugs, and myoclonic. Nothing seems to help."

I try to think if there's a clinical trial I know of, but it doesn't sound familiar. I don't have any of my cards right now, but I want to help. "Why don't you call Georgetown tomorrow? Ask for me. I'll be there and we can bring Allison in for some scans. Pro bono, of course."

"Oh Doctor Grey, you don't have to do that."

"I know. I want to. I'm not sure how I can help; I'm no specialist. But I'd like to try."

The mother hugs me and says, "Thank you so much."

I hug her back and say, "I don't even know your name. I'm so sorry."

"Jaclyn Peterson."

I shake her hand. "Wonderful to meet you. Call tomorrow and we'll get Allison in as soon as possible."

"Thank you."

I shift my attention back to Allison and tell her, "Hopefully I'll get to see you tomorrow. If you're free that is."

She laughs and nods, looking shy again. I give her hand a squeeze once more.

I feel someone next to me and glance over to find Derek at my side. He grins kindly at the little girl and she immediately goes red. "Hi there," he greets.

We spend some more time with Jaclyn and Allison before we have to move on. Derek places his hand at the base of my spine and walks me away from the crowd for a second towards his people. "I was watching you with that little girl. You were amazing," he says.

"I feel so badly for her. She's so young to be sick."

His hand moves up and down my spine. "Do you think you can help her?"

"No," I say honestly, "but I have to try."

Not long later, we sit down to dinner with Derek at the head of the table and me to his left. I'm sitting next to a woman who works for the organization and she talks candidly about the struggles they face and the impact this sort of exposure may have. I don't contribute much, but I gladly listen, especially to Derek's end of the conversation. He's speaking to the head of the Huntington's Disease Society of America, whose mother died fifteen years ago from the disease. While Derek speaks, I see the man I voted for.

I remember walking into the polling place last November, confident in my choice of Derek Shepherd. However, Derek was the underdog. The other candidate was older and had spent more time in the political scene. Everyone assumed he was a shoo-in. I didn't care about any of that because I just knew we needed someone new, with fresh eyes, and optimism to run our country.

Since the moment I voted, I've seen Derek be the President, but until this moment I haven't felt awed by the fact that he _is_ the President. He listens patiently while others speak and he contributes where necessary. And it feels like everything he says is the right thing. People at the other end of the table listen happily and the back and forth between Derek and everyone in the room is something incredible to watch. I don't think I can really explain it, but in this moment I feel like I'm truly seeing President Shepherd.

There's a short pause in the conversation and Derek looks my way. He leans close and asks, "How are you?"

I don't even pause before saying, "Really good."

\\\\\

That night I stay at the White House despite the unwritten rule that I shouldn't. I've seen all these shows and movies before that show the President's girlfriend or mistress or whoever just staying the night, but I guess reality isn't so salacious. I think Derek allows me to stay because of our little tiff a few days ago about the castle he's put me up in. I haven't said anymore about the house, but I still don't like it.

Derek unzips my gown slowly and offers me his hand as I step out of it. As I hang the dress up, Derek kisses my bare shoulder. "Did you have fun tonight?"

I turn around and begin to work on his bowtie. "I don't know if I'd call it fun, but it was eye-opening."

"That's the point."

I remove his tie. "I deal with patients like that little girl every day. Sometimes it's not impossible to push my feelings aside, but I don't know. Tonight I just couldn't."

Derek reaches out and runs his hands down my arms. "It's who you are. Your compassion is one of the reasons I love you."

There's a swift knock at the door and I'm just standing in my bra and underwear. "Shit," I say and rush towards the bathroom.

"Just a minute," Derek calls, making sure I'm in the clear, before opening the door. "Yes Alan?"

"Sorry for the late visit sir, but you're needed in the Situation Room."

All I can do is listen from the bathroom, but the long pause, followed by the tone of Derek's voice, makes me nervous. "What are we talking about here?"

"ISIS," Alan says.

"Give me just a minute."

The door shuts and Derek's in the bathroom with me. He's gone pale. "You need to go," I say.

"I do. But you should stay."

"Really?"

"Absolutely," he says with a forced smile. "Keep the bed warm for me."

I reach up and give him a soft kiss, but he's walking towards the door before it even feels like the kiss ends. I go about taking my hair down, removing my makeup, and brushing my teeth before getting into bed. I find one of Derek's college t-shirts and slide it on before climbing in his bed. It feels weird being in here without him. Eventually the weirdness subsides and I fall asleep.

For all I know it's 4am by the time Derek returns. I can't open my eyes to check, but I know it's either very early or very late depending on the way you look at it. Derek closes the door softly and comes over to my side of the bed. His face is just inches from mine when I blink my eyes open.

"Hi," he says. I can't tell how he looks in the dark, but he sounds tired.

"Hi."

"I'm glad you're in my bed."

I smile. "I'm glad I'm in your bed, too."

I try to stay awake, I really do, but my eyes are too heavy. I'm half-asleep when I feel Derek climb in beside me and wrap me in his arms. I have no idea what happened tonight and maybe I might never know depending on the situation. However, I could wake up tomorrow to learn more people are dead in some senseless attack. For now, I just feel the security of my boyfriend's arms around me and I fall asleep with the memory of Derek being the man I voted for as the President of the United States.

* * *

 **Thank you for your reviews to: playergurl89, Million Candles, mollyisfast, GayleLynn, We'reNotGonnaPayRent, Patsy, CileSuns92, two harts, Hitam1, Hasi2012, katevan, derlovesmerlovesder, mandyg67, merderfan1, greyhouses, Jackie, Annie, and four guests.  
**


	23. Alive

**AN: I apologize for this being late in the day. I had a funeral to attend today, so I couldn't post this chapter earlier. Better late than never, right? Also, I may not update next week since I'm on vacation. If I find time between now and Saturday to write and finish a chapter, then it'll go up next Wednesday, but if not, it may not be until the following week. Thank you in advance for your patience!**

 **I played around a little bit in this chapter and spent some time focusing on Meredith's work. I hope you enjoy it and thank you for all your comments. They mean the world to me!**

* * *

I'm in the lab when Alex walks in. I glance up from the papers I've been reading through. "Hey."

"Hey," he says and lets the door shut behind him.

"What's up?"

"Nothing." He plops down on a stool across from me and starts fiddling with my papers.

I watch Alex for a few seconds before asking, "Seriously, what's up?"

"The house is quiet all the time," he says with a sigh. I remove the papers from his hands. "And there's no one to share pizza with or watch surgery tapes with. I've been staying here almost every night because I hate how quiet the house feels."

"Invite some of the paparazzi in. They'll keep you company."

"There are no paparazzi anymore."

"Really?"

Alex meets my eyes. "Yeah. They stuck around for a week after you went public, but they haven't been back in almost a month."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. Why? Are you considering moving back in?" He looks hopeful.

"Believe me, if I could I'd be back tonight."

"The President's still keeping you on a short leash?"

I roll my eyes. "It is not like that."

Alex laughs. "I hit a nerve."

I pick up my pen. "I will jam this into one of _your_ nerves and make it look like an accident."

"Ah Grey, I've missed you. Seriously though, how's it going with all that?"

I lean back in my chair and fiddle with the pen. "Derek is incredible. He's kind and funny and he's got the hair. He's perfect for me and I'm happy."

"Okay," Alex says and he looks skeptical. "What about the fact that he's also the President and dating him has flipped your life upside down. What about that?"

"Oh, that."

Alex nods. "So we're not discussing it?"

"There's nothing really to discuss. Do I want to be dating the President? Would I've chosen this life for myself? No. But I choose Derek and if that means I have to spend almost seven and a half years smiling into cameras and wearing big fancy dresses, then I'll do it."

"Seven a half years, huh? So you're planning for the future."

"Yeah. So?"

Alex grins. "The Meredith Grey I know doesn't make plans."

"Well, maybe I've grown up."

"Maybe," he agrees.

The door opens and my mother gives me a nod. "Meredith, Doctor Karev," she says.

Alex stands. "Good to see you, Doctor Grey," he says to my mom and walks towards the door. "I'll see you later, Mer." None of my friends stick around when my mom shows up. They used to be scared of her, but it feels like it's more about the Alzheimer's these days. Either way, my mom never takes notice or if she does, she doesn't seem to care.

My mom takes Alex's seat. "Working on the clinical trial?"

I slide the papers I've been mulling over to the side and turn to face her. "Uh, actually—"

"Huntington's Disease cures?" she interrupts, glancing over the paperwork. "You know there's no cure, right?"

"I know." I place a folder on top of my research. "This is more of a personal project. So," I move to change the subject, "what are you doing here?"

If someone were to tell me two years ago, or hell twenty years ago, that seeing my mom in the hospital would be a strange occurrence, I wouldn't have believed them. I was raised in this hospital. My mother spent every holiday, every birthday—hers and mine—operating. She spent her time building relationships with patients instead of helping me with my algebra. But I get it. I live for the job, too. It's strange now that's she rarely walking these halls.

"I came for Richard's send off."

"That's good. It'll be good to show your support."

My mom looks tired. "I'm not just here to support Richard."

"What do you mean?"

She takes a sigh and considers her next words for a moment which is very unlike my mother. She's always been so quick to speak up. I think it has something to do with becoming a surgeon in a day and age when women weren't surgeons; she always had to be quick to speak.

Finally, she says, "I'm going to announce my diagnosis today."

Before considering anything, I say, "What? No." I feel blind-sided. "Why?"

"Oh Meredith," she says and shakes her head. "When I got my diagnosis last year, I thought I'd be fine. I thought I'd be a miracle case, someone who could continue on for years and years without people knowing. But I don't believe in miracles, rightfully so. I'm not myself. I'm not Doctor Ellis Grey anymore," her voice hitches. "And I haven't been for a long time."

"You're still you."

"No. I'm not." She pauses for another second and says, "I had two separate episodes yesterday."

"Were they bad?"

She nods. "The first was okay. I lost my keys for a long while and then found them under my mattress. I tore the house apart. I figured it was nothing. But then yesterday evening, Richard had just gotten home and…I don't know what happened. One moment I was me and the next it was four hours later and Richard was there pleading for me to come back to him. He still won't tell me what happened, but the look in his eyes." She makes a pained sound. "Well, anyway, I'm not getting better and I'm tired of pretending everything is okay. I'm tired of making you and Richard pretend everything is okay. Everything is not okay."

For over a year, I've had to embody this strength that has exhausted me from the very first day. But until this moment, I didn't realize holding my mom's secret was the thing that was draining me. So as soon as she mentions it, I feel myself get choked up. I don't cry and when I do, I never do it in front of my tough as nails mother. But as the tears begin to roll, she doesn't admonish me, but she wraps her arms around my shoulders. "It's okay, Meredith. It'll be okay."

I don't know how long we stay there like that. It feels like years. My mom runs her hand along my hair, which she probably hasn't done since I was a little kid. Eventually I pull away, although being close feels like a small little gift I should hold onto for longer.

"Are you okay?" she asks.

"Are _you_?"

"I will be. Well, I won't be, but I'll feel better having admitted it to everyone. I don't want to wait for some reporter to find out and break the news. I'd rather do it myself."

I grab a tissue and wipe away the last of my tears. "So what's the plan?"

"My life plan?"

I nod.

"I'd like to not be put in a home, but I'm not sure how reasonable that is. Richard says he can handle it, but I could become a danger to myself or him. For now at least, I'll stay home."

"What about we revisit researching clinical trials? Or some of those new meds," I say quickly before she can turn me down again.

I've been trying to get my mom in a clinical trial by a renowned doctor at the Mayo Clinic for a year now. So far the trial has had good feedback and the community is definitely paying attention. But my mom was, for lack of a better word, closeted then. Now being open, now might be the time.

"I'm not a lab rat," she insists.

"I'm very much aware of that. Clinical trials do not treat their patients as lab rats."

"The science isn't supported by anything in the Mayo trial yet. I want hard evidence that it's actually doing something before I consider it."

"Mom," I sigh, ready to fight her on the merits of a clinical trial. On all the work she put into _her_ clinical trials and how if not for the patients, there never would've been any medical advancement. I think about fighting her on the fact that she's running out of time. She doesn't have time to wait.

But then I remember she has to make this decision.

So I let go.

"Okay," I relent.

She raises her eyebrows, but doesn't say anything else regarding the subject. "So what's going on with this Huntington's patient?"

I run my hand across my face, trying to not feel so tired. Working on Allison's case is exhausting me because everything I read is just so depressing. "I met her at that White House dinner a month ago. She's just a kid and already she's bound to a wheelchair. She still has use of her arms and hands, and she can speech, but her mom says the disease is moving fast and I don't know. I thought I could help."

"Have you run tests?"

"Yes. I had them in almost a month ago. Her scans looked normal for a patient with advanced Huntington's. She has all the markers to lose arm and hand function within the next two to three months. After that, it'll be speech."

"What meds is she on?"

"All of them. Even the ones for Parkinson's. They maintain her day-to-day pain, but nothing is slowing the process."

My mom reads over the chart and the information I've pulled. We sit in silence for a long time: my mother reading and me just watching her. She doesn't take notes, but I know she's making notes in her mind. The one aspect my mom hasn't lost yet is her ability to remember charts and patients. Eventually, she says, "An old colleague of mine, Howard Burton, was working on Huntington's a few years ago. He's at Mass Gen and I don't know how far he got in his research, but he would be a wealth of information at the very least. Let me make a call."

"Really?"

She gives me a definitive nod. "Yes. I'll call him now before I forget." She doesn't even stop to consider what forgetting even means these days.

As my mom stands, she uncharacteristically kisses the top of my head. "I'll see you in a bit."

I watch my mom walk from the room and I see the woman who raised me, but instead of feeling helpless waiting for my mother to come home and make dinner or help me with my homework, I feel supported by my fellow surgeon who just so happens to be my mother.

\\\\\

Richard and my mom are gathering everyone at three and I have a few minutes, so I sneak into an on-call room to call Derek. He's away for the next eight days—having already spent three days away. He's in Arizona now and then he's off to California and Washington state. He's been cagey about the details, but he claims to just be making his political rounds. Maybe that's all he's doing, but as always he can't tell me anything so I just nod and let him tell me all he can. I know it sucks for him, too.

Derek doesn't pick up. I stare down at my phone for a minute and then decide to do some rounds before the meeting. But then my phone rings.

"Hi."

"Hi," he responds. "You rang," he says in a terrible British accent.

I can't help but laugh. "That was appalling."

"You give it a go, then," he continues the accent.

"God no. We'd have a second revolution if I tried. How are you?"

"I'm good. Sunburnt, but good."

I sit down on one of the beds and press my back against the wall. "Why are you sunburnt?"

He sighs. "I went golfing with the governor. It's almost summer. In Arizona. And I went golfing with the governor and I am Irish, so I burnt. And I sucked at golf. I haven't golfed in probably twenty years so not only do I resemble a lobster and I have to give a speech today, but I also got my ass handed to me by a seventy year old man."

"Oh poor you," I tease. "How have you avoided golfing throughout your political career? Isn't that just a rite of passage? I thought you used to hit golf balls."

"I do hit golf balls, but it's a little different than an entire round. And it is a rite of passage, but I always suggest fishing instead. Fishing is something I'm good at. But Arizona isn't known for its lakes or rivers, so we golfed."

"And you're a lobster."

"I am a lobster," he confirms. "How are you? How is your day?"

"My day…" I start and think to the meeting that's going to be convening any moment. My day hasn't been good, but despite the sunburn and the shitty golfing skills, Derek sounds happy. So I say, "My day has been fine. I have a surgery this afternoon that should last at least ten hours."

"That sounds awful."

" _That_ is what I live for."

Derek laughs. "You're beautiful and smart and maybe a little psychotic."

"I'll take all three as compliments. So you have a speech?" I ask.

He groans. "I have a speech."

"Why don't you sound happy about your speech?"

"I am happy. It's an honor. I'm just nervous."

"I didn't think you got nervous."

"I do. You used to make me nervous."

"Used to? That breaks my heart."

Derek laughs. "Fine, you still make me nervous sometimes."

"Are you just telling me that to appease me?"

"I wouldn't dare to do any such thing."

"That makes me strangely happy."

"Please add a very sarcastic humble to that glowing list of your best qualities."

"I will."

My pager beeps on my waist. I look down. _Pit – 911_

"I've gotta go. Call me later?"

"I will," he says in this tone that's only reserved for me. It makes me feel warm from head to toe.

\\\\\

I rush down to the pit, hoping for some massive, important case that will keep me far, _far_ away from my mom and dad as they both announce the end of their respective careers. I can imagine everyone turning to me the moment my mom makes the announcement and I can't deal with anyone staring at me at the moment. I have enough of that when my face is plastered across the screen during the evening news.

I push open the doors and see the trauma team working on a young woman. April is at the helm. I grab a gown and a set of gloves. "What'da we got?" I ask, practically pushing an intern out of the way.

"Cyclist versus auto. The car won," April says. "She stopped breathing in the field, but EMTs were able to revive her. I had an intern call upstairs for a trauma OR and we're waiting on confirmation."

I check the patient's pulse and it's weak. I press on her stomach and feel free fluid in the abdomen. "We don't have time. Let's get her mobile. What's the patient's name?"

"Melissa," an intern says.

"Okay, Melissa," I say and she meets my eyes with a wide, worried look. "It's going to be okay. We're going to take care of you."

She nods, but just barely before her eyes slip closed.

"Move!" I yell and we begin pushing the gurney.

\\\\\

"Suction," I instruct the intern to my left.

"There's, uh, a lot of blood, Doctor Grey. Suction keeps clogging up."

She's right. The body cavity is full of blood. I can't see anything. "Adjust the angle. Lower your hand." I look across at the other intern. "Shaw, let's run the small bowel."

"How do I do that again?"

I might've bitten Shaw's head off yesterday for not knowing something so basic, but my patient is dying on this table and I can't figure out what is about to kill her. So I don't have time to worry about incompetent interns. "Just take them in your hands, looks for injuries, nice and slow."

Shaw begins running the bowel and Anderson continues to suction. I feel down in the body cavity and, "Okay, the break is near the femoral artery."

"She's losing more blood," Anderson says a bit too loudly, practically screaming in my ear.

"Suction."

"I'm trying."

"Okay, Anderson, just get in there and just scoop it out with your hands."

Her eyes go wide. "Just scoop it out?"

"Just get right in there."

I move frantically, but precisely, not allowing anyone to know I'm freaking out on the inside. Any doctor who tells me they're not a little bit nervous before and during surgery I don't trust or believe. "Okay, the liver's exsanguinating. Anderson, suction. Shaw, grab a clamp for this."

"Which one?"

"Debakey."

Bailey walks into my OR with a mask over her face. I wonder if she's been made aware she's the new Chief of Surgery. "Good news. We tracked down the young woman's parents in Philadelphia. She was here for the marathon. They're driving down right now."

"Great, thank you Doctor Bailey."

"Keep me posted," she says.

"Let's hang more blood," I say into the ether of my OR.

A nurse clears her throat and says, "That one makes 57. Doctor Grey, we've replaced her entire volume of blood four times."

"I got this. More laps."

"It might be time to pack her and let her rest," Dr. Bailey says. "Looks like you're at a point of diminishing returns, Grey. There's a limit to how much this patient can take."

"She was crushed by two tons of twisted metal," I argue.

Bailey moves closer to my table. "That's a lot of trauma for the body."

"I know. I know exactly how much trauma that is for the body." I grab more laps. "I'm not doing damage control here. I'm not gonna pack her up and hope for the best."

"I need you to stop," Bailey says in a commanding tone.

I look up just long enough to shoot Bailey a look. "She needs an intact liver."

"Meredith, just take a second," Bailey says.

"I am _trying_ to save her life." I notice my interns have stopped working. "Anderson, suction!"

"Hands off the patient, Grey. Now."

I stare at Bailey now. I don't just look, but stare. She is as serious as I've ever seen her, but the fact of the matter is my patient's liver is dying, she has a tear in her femoral artery, and she's full of free fluid. She might not make the night.

Despite all the cards being against her, Bailey is right. There's nothing more we can do than pack her and hope she makes it through the night.

I nod. "Let's pack her up."

\\\\\

I sit outside Melissa's room finishing her chart, but mostly keeping an eye on her. I sent Shaw and Anderson away and plan to monitor Melissa for the rest of the day. I pushed off my long surgery for the next day because we'll have a small window to get back into the OR and I refuse to miss it while stuck in surgery or while allowing an intern to monitor my patient.

Someone sits down next to me. I glance over at Cristina.

"I heard," she says.

I set down my pen. "We have to correct her acidosis and her hypothermia and make sure her coags are stable."

"And until then?" Cristina asks.

"Until then, we have to try and keep her alive."

"But she's stable."

I agree, "She's stable."

\\\\\

The next morning I'm drinking a coffee and staring at Melissa's chart and going over her vitals. Bailey's at my side. "I saw your name on the board. So, you've decided to go back in."

"This is my window. Her pH and coags are good. She'll never make it another day if I don't do this surgery today." Bailey doesn't look sold. "What?"

"You didn't tell me," she says quietly.

I close Melissa's chart. "I didn't tell anyone."

"And the Chief?" she asks.

"The Chief is standing right next to me."

"Meredith," she sighs and she sounds tired. "You could've told me about your mom. You and the Chief could've said something. We're all in the same department, same specialty. You could've said something."

I smile a little. "I promised I wouldn't and I keep my promises. And I promised myself Melissa will make it through her surgery, so I need to get to the OR to keep that promise." I begin to walk away and turn to say, "Congratulations. Chief."

Bailey can't even try to repress her smile.

\\\\\

"Get in here and help retract, Shaw. I need more visibility."

"That's a lot of blood," Anderson says.

"Suction like your life depends on it. If your hands move even a centimeter without my say, she will bleed out and die."

I keep searching the abdomen, looking for the source of the bleeding. With each sweep of the suction, I'm given a little visibility, but not enough. She'll bleed out before I ever find the source.

"B.P.'s dropping," a nurse calls.

"Who moved?" I ask as the body cavity fills with blood. "Somebody moved. Say it now."

"I did," Shaw admits. "Just a little. I'm sorry."

As the suction sweeps through, I see it. "It…it's okay. It actually helps. It means the bleeder is in the retroperitoneum. Okay, now literally this time, nobody move." I feel myself hold my breath and as I let it go, I whisper to myself, "Do not panic. Don't panic."

She's going to die. My patient is going to die. The bleeding hasn't stopped and—

"Found it. Clamp." I take the clamp from someone's hand. "Tiny tear in the external iliac."

Someone releases a breath they were holding. "Thank god."

\\\\\

Twenty minutes later, I'm scrubbing out, watching as the orderlies and nurses prepare the room for the next surgery. I haven't slept in over twenty-four hours and I've put off calling Derek for almost a day. My first stop is Melissa's parents, then Melissa herself, call Derek, and then bed. For a little while at least. I have back-to-back surgeries today and I have to eventually hear how the meeting went yesterday, although I'm still not sure I even want to deal with it.

As I walk down the hallway to speak to the parents, my phone rings. _Derek_.

"Hi," I say and my voice sounds croaky like I'm sick.

"You sound tired."

"Oh, thanks. Exactly what I wanted to hear."

He laughs. "Sorry. Is this a good time?"

I want to say yes because I want to talk, but Melissa's parents are waiting. "Can I call you back? I need to talk to my patient's parents."

"Did she survive?" he asks.

"She did."

Derek pauses for a minute and then says, "You're incredible."

I don't know what to say that wouldn't sound lame, so I go with, "Thank you."

On that note, Derek ends the call and I walk down the long hallway towards the waiting room. Everyone looks up when I enter the room because everyone sitting here is just waiting to hear. They all look so helpless, hoping some doctor isn't killing their loved one. The waiting room is sometimes the most depressing room in the entire hospital.

Melissa's parents stand right away as soon as they see me, having met me last night, and they approach me with hopeful reservation, if there's such a thing. "Is she…alive?" the mother asks.

"Yes. Your daughter is alive."

* * *

 **Thank you to the following commenters: Margaret, Carla, Bj188, Annie, We'reNotGonnaPayRent, xxxjoxxx, gguest, two harts, merderfan1, mandyg67, ForeverMerDer, ntlpurpolia, Million Candles, holly, Hitam1, Harryfan626, Jackie, Patsy, MeredithRobbins, Marie, playergurl89, and three guests.**


	24. Arms

**AN: First of all, thank you for your patience while I was on vacation. I had a great time, but now I'm back to real life. Also, I loved all the comments on the last part and especially those who loved the focus on Meredith and her career. Some of you seemed disappointed that there wasn't more of Derek, but I'm trying to making this realistic and I don't think it's very realistic for either of them to be able to see one another every day. That will certainly be a theme in the next few chapters.**

 **Another thing, when I was writing this part, I couldn't remember the last name of the SS agent who follows Meredith, whether it was Troy or Toby. So I went back to some older chapters and guess what? Some chapters it's Troy and some it's Toby. I'm literally the worst.**

 **Last thing, I really appreciate comments from people who have been reading for a long time and who haven't commented before. I love all my reviewers, but it's kind of incredible when someone just pops up after 24 chapters to say they've been reading from the beginning. If you haven't commented before, please give me a little love now!**

 **Anyway, onto the update. Enjoy!**

* * *

"Did you remember your toothbrush?"

"Crap."

"And don't forget toothpaste," Cristina calls after me as I disappear into my bathroom. "He probably doesn't have toothpaste or if he does, it's probably that baking soda crap that just leaves a film. He looks like the kind of guy who believes real toothpaste will make his teeth fall out or kill him."

I walk back into my room with just a toothbrush, which I throw into my suitcase. "What are you even talking about?"

Cristina's lying on her stomach, on my bed, flipping through some generic D.C. centric magazine. "He's from Maine," is all she says.

I grab an extra sweater. "What does that even mean?"

"It means," she says with a sigh, "That he's a granola eating hippy."

"Maine isn't known for its hippies."

"Have you ever been to Maine?"

I stare down at my suitcase, trying to remember what I might be forgetting, but my mind is blank. My mind is blank except for Cristina's questions, which rolls around while I consider if I really have been to Maine before. "Uh…no. I don't think so."

Cristina nods as if I've proven her pointed. "Hippies. Just you wait."

My phone rings, which is a nice break from the craziness of my room and my best friend. "Hey," I say to Derek.

"Hi there. Almost ready?"

I look around my room feeling slightly stressed. Although I still manage to say, "Yes. Just ten minutes."

"Good. We're on our way over."

"Okay," I say, making the kay part much longer than it needs to be.

We end the call and I toss my phone into my purse before I forget. "Okay, I have pants and shirts, two sweaters, underwear, another bra, shoes, a toothbrush, no makeup because I don't need it."

"Preach!" Cristina says and throws her fist into the air.

"What else?" I ask aloud.

Cristina looks into my suitcase and then shrugs. "I don't know. If you forget something can't you just have a Secret Service guy just pick it up for you?"

"Well I _can_ , but I'd rather not forget anything."

"To me, it looks fine."

I have no idea why I'm so nervous. I spent a night away with Derek at Camp David and I've met his family before, but there's something really different about spending the entire weekend _with_ his family in his house in Maine. In the past when Derek's mentioned his house, I just assumed he had a normal house. A few bedrooms, a few bathrooms, maybe a pool. But he made mention of the cliff his house overlooks and the in-law suite, which is in its own separate house _outside_ the main house, and now I'm expecting some mansion. Some huge, ridiculously expensive mansion that will put my house to shame. All Derek's houses put mine to shame.

He told me not to be nervous. He keeps telling me, but it's an entire weekend with family and friends and then me. The girlfriend.

The house phone rings. "Hello?"

"Doctor Grey, we're downstairs when you're ready."

I told them ten minutes and that definitely wasn't ten minutes. "Yes. I'm ready."

"I'll send Toby up to meet you," Grant says and ends the call. I realize no one ever says goodbye in Derek's line of work.

"I have to go."

Cristina pushes herself up from the bed with a groan. "I can't believe Bailey sent me home for the weekend. What am I going to do with myself for two whole days? I've never gone two whole days without cutting."

I throw my purse over my shoulder and grab my suitcase. "Knowing you, you'll find your way back into the OR this weekend."

"Could I maybe injure you? This way I'll have to be in the OR and you can miss your weekend."

Cristina grabs the back of my suitcase as we walk downstairs. My bag is heavy because I definitely over-packed. Never in my life have I ever been the girl to over-pack. "And what kind of injury would you prefer? What kind of traumatic cardio injury would you like me to have?"

"Well when you say it like that, it sounds bad."

We reach the bottom steps just as the elevator doors open. I give Cristina a look. "Go to the hospital. They can't really kick you out. Hang out in an on-call room. Troll the pit."

"I like the way you're thinking. While I'm cutting, you can enjoy your Moscow Mules by the pool while Sergio rubs your feet."

"Sergio?"

Cristina grins. "Every millionaire has a masseuse named Sergio." She gives me a wave. "Later."

I step onto the elevator with Toby, after he takes my bag, and press my back to the mirrored wall. The doors close and I ask, "There's no masseuse, right?"

Toby just gives me a little grin.

When we make it downstairs into the parking garage, Toby puts my bag in the trunk of the car, right next to Derek's, and Grant holds the backdoor open for me. "Doctor Grey," he greets with a nod. I give him a smile before sliding into the back of the car. As I turn to Derek, I realize he's on the phone.

"What I don't understand is how he even found himself in Syria. The latest report said he was a smart kid from Nebraska. He was a track and field runner who ended up at UCLA. Graduated with honors, went onto med school. It doesn't add up. We're missing something."

Derek mutes his line and leans in to kiss me. "Hi," he says with a grin.

"Hey."

"I'm sorry about this. I promise, no work once we're in Maine."

I take his hand. "It's okay. I don't mind."

"Good, because—" Derek unmutes his phone. "Get me Elizabeth on the phone. She's been speaking to the mother and she'll have more information. I have to sit on my hands until we get any more information, but we can't wait any longer."

We pull out and onto the street. I notice we're in an unmarked car, which is unusual. The President's car always flies the flags, but with my location still secret, an unmarked car is necessary. As we turn left onto the street, I do notice a woman standing near the driveway. She doesn't have a camera or a notepad, and she doesn't seem particularly interested in our car, but she's on the phone and there's something about the way she eyes the license plate that unnerves me.

By the time we reach the airport, Derek is finally finished with his call. Grant pulls us right up to Air Force One, where a photo brigade is waiting on us. Grant and Toby climb from the car and Derek takes the few seconds we have to kiss me. He pulls away and caresses my cheek. "Did I say before how beautiful you look?"

"No." I look down at my outfit, which is definitely nothing I'd pick out. I had figured we'd just get on a plane, not like a normal couple, but without paparazzi. But Derek's team figured a photo of us climbing on and off Air Force One would tide the public over for a little while, so I wouldn't need to go to another dinner in the next few weeks. I jumped at the suggestion. So the very next day I found a cream sleeveless, black belted shift dress with black heels waiting on my bed.

Derek says, "Well you look beautiful."

"Thank you."

"And even better, we only have two photos today and then we're free for the entire weekend."

Yes, that does sound better. "I can't wait."

Grant opens Derek's door and Derek climbs out first. He buttons his jacket before reaching back to give me a hand and helping me from the car. The flashbulbs were going crazy before I left the car, but they almost double in speed as soon as Derek's hand presses to my back and he raises his other hand to wave. I wave as well and smile wide, making my cheeks hurt.

We keep waving and smile for another minute before walking to the stairs leading up to Air Force One, which is much bigger than I'd expected. I walk up first and Derek's close behind me, at the very top we turn, his hand pressed to my spine and both of us waving with opposite arms. I feel him looking at me, so I turn to look at him and we share a smile. I can almost already see the image printed in tomorrow's papers.

Air Force One is much less a plane than an actual flying home. When we first step on, we're greeted by the flight crew, which is totally normal, but right after an air hostess asks me what I'd like to drink once we take off. I order just water, not wanting to start the party too early. Derek then leads me through a lounge, then a meeting room, and then a more private lounge. He explains the front lounge is for guests and the back is for the President and his family. Behind the lounge is a full office, a bedroom, and multiple bathrooms that are bigger than my bathroom at the old house. Towards the end of the tour, the pilot stops by to say we're taking off and Derek and I take a seat in the public lounge.

The captain comes over a loudspeaker and says, "Welcome aboard Mr. President and Doctor Grey. Our flight time today is two hours and fifteen minutes. Should you need anything at all, Natasha and Lucy will be glad to assist you. Enjoy your flight on Air Force One."

"It's like we're toeing a line between being some normal, pedestrian airline and like, a superstar millionaire's private jet. Which is what this is. Minus the jet part."

Derek laughs. "Well, if it makes you feel better, I did not buy this plane. It comes with the job."

"And the houses and the round the clock room service and the bodyguards."

"Yes, those are just some of the perks."

I roll my eyes. "Always modest."

Derek laughs again, "You know it."

The flight from DC to Bar Harbor is beautiful. We fly along the coast for most of the way and I switch my seat to the right side of the plane to just watch the ocean in the distance. Derek gets another call, which seems like it might be the same issue as before, so he excuses himself to work it out. I'm just as happy to just stare out the window.

The hostesses come back many times to check on me, but I never need anything. I've flown a lot in my time, especially in the hospital's private jet, but nothing compares to being in Air Force One.

As we lower in altitude, Derek returns from the back of the plane looking less than happy, but I notice he masks his feelings as soon as we lock eyes. He smiles, kisses me, and sits down beside me. I know I shouldn't ask, because he can't tell me, but I'm still concerned for my boyfriend. "What's wrong?"

He sighs and I prepare myself for the same, 'I can't tell you' speech, but instead he says, "We've found our first American working among the ranks of ISIS."

I'm too shocked to even say anything at first, not because of the information, but because it's being shared with me. Finally I manage, "But I thought other American's have shown allegiance to ISIS."

"Yes, they have, but this man is an official within ISIS. We haven't seen anyone in such a high rank and..." Derek's quiet for a second. He's contemplative. I wonder if he's trying to pick the right words so he doesn't break any confidentiality clauses or something. "He beheaded a doctor and sent us the video," Derek admits. "So I'm trying to learn more about him."

I'm shaken with the fact that doctors are being killed for saving others. I can't even think of a cohesive response, so I just ask, "What are you going to do?"

Derek shakes his head. "I'm not sure yet."

I realize that maybe this weekend shouldn't be happening. Derek obviously is needed elsewhere. He's too important to just stand on the sidelines for three full days. "If you're needed in DC, I'd understand postponing—"

"No," he says adamantly. "No," he follows softer. "I have a great team. They'll do some digging this weekend and I can make decisions on Monday. For now, it's about us. And my family."

I swallow deep at the thought.

Derek must notice because he asks, "Are you nervous?" His tone basically says: 'Why would you be nervous?'

"Shouldn't I be?"

"But you've met my family."

"Yes, met. Twice. The first time I was saving your life so they loved me and the second time was a very, very quick lunch. This is an entire weekend with your mom and sisters and their husbands and their many, many children. This is a really official 'meeting the family' type thing and I'm afraid I'll say something really dumb that'll make your mom hate me. Because moms don't like me. No one's mom has ever liked me. And your sisters can be scary. They're like ferocious dogs. Oh god, not _dogs_ , but—"

"Meredith," Derek interrupts.

I take a breath. "What?"

He grins. "My mom already likes you. She loves you, actually, and not just because you saved my life. You keep my grounded and you make me happy. My mom can see that. My sisters also adore you because I'm happier. No one is going to judge anything you say because even in this short time, you're part of the inner circle. You're part of the family."

I look away for a second because the look in Derek's eyes is so intense. The feelings I have towards him are so intense. When I look back up at him, I say, "You certainly have a way with words."

"I _am_ President after all."

"And there it goes," I tease.

The rest of the flight is light and airy. No more talk of work or worry. When we land, I stand and adjust my dress before stepping into the bathroom to freshen up. I think about that back bedroom and how if not for the cameras waiting on the tarmac, maybe Derek and I would've become members of the mile high club. Maybe on the way back.

Derek is waiting for me by the exit door and he gives me a brief kiss before nodding for the door to be opened. We step out into the cool early summer air and I can smell the ocean already. The cameras are going crazy, snapping pictures of each second. Once again we smile and wave before ducking into another unmarked car, this one taking us to Derek's home for the weekend.

The drive is short and the further we get from the airport, the further we get from other buildings and people and cars. Eventually we're driving on a road alone with thick forests to our left and the ocean to our right. "That's Acadia National Park," Derek explains, pointing to the forest. "If you're feeling particularly outdoorsy this weekend, we could go for a hike."

"I did pack sneakers."

"Perfect."

The road winds up a hill before we begin to slow down. On the right I notice a massive house. All white siding and grey shutters. A two-story home with a wrap-around porch and landscaping that looks like it's out of _Better Homes & Gardens_. The house seriously looks like something you'd find in an architecture book with its turrets and molding and subtle detailed woodwork along the eaves and soffits. The house is beautiful and when we turn into the driveway, I have to keep myself from physically harming Derek.

I turn quickly to him. " _This_ is not _your_ house."

He looks sheepish. "It's smaller than the White House."

"The state of Rhode Island is smaller than the White House! That's besides the point. This," I point at the gigantic house, "is a mansion."

"There's only five bedrooms."

"Is that really your argument here?"

I hear Toby snicker from the front seat.

"I knew you were rich, but this is seriously rich."

"You're rich, too," he defends.

He is right. "Yes, but my money is hidden in a bank account, not hanging onto a cliff next to a National Park."

"And that's where you're making a mistake. You should invest in real estate. It's a much better bang for your buck than sitting in a bank collecting dust."

We park in front of a row of four garages and I realize for the first time in a long time, there aren't cameras or White House staff or gigantic gates keeping the public out. We're basically alone. Of course his family will be here tomorrow, but for right now it's like Camp David all over again.

I turn to Derek and our tussle about money is over because I kiss him out of happiness. Even if he lives in a palace, we can just be normal for the weekend.

"Give me a house tour," I request before climbing from the car.

After a tour, which includes a wine cellar and a piano room (what's with rich people and piano rooms?), Derek and I sit on the back porch overlooking the ocean. For thirty minutes, we sit in complete silence, completely alone. No cameras watching us, no fancy outfits—since I changed as quickly as possible into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt—and no bodyguards. Grant and Toby are close, I'm sure, but they're not following us or letting us see them.

By the evening, we've had dinner of lobster and summer potatoes, something Derek actually cooks for us, and I'm wrapped in one of his sweaters to keep warm from the breeze coming in from the ocean. I offer to wash the dishes, but Derek dismisses me, heading inside with the plates. I notice headlights on the driveway and wonder if either Grant or Toby has gone somewhere, but then I hear a voice inside with Derek. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows I see Carolyn Shepherd give her son a big hug. I have to admit, I like the idea of Carolyn being early, so I won't be so overwhelmed tomorrow.

Carolyn walks out onto the porch, sharing the guilty look her son usually uses on me. "I'm sorry I'm interrupting your evening! I promised Derek I'd let you both have tonight."

I stand and hug Carolyn. "It's okay. I know you live here so I figured you'd be around."

Derek steps onto the porch with two glasses of red wine in his hands. We hands both of us a glass. "Yes, but I wanted to give you both a quiet night. I know you're very busy."

"I'm just happy for no cameras tonight. You're welcome to join us."

Carolyn waves her hand in the air. "Nonsense. I'm going to retire to the guest house and let you have your night. But I wanted to say hi before I do." She hands he glass to Derek. "If I drink too much of this, I'll be taking a midnight swim in there," she motions to the ocean. "I'm so glad you're here, Meredith."

"So I am," I say, returning Carolyn's warm smile.

"Well tomorrow will be a little crazy, but we have a good day planned. I expect you both to not be hungover tomorrow," she stands up on her toes and kisses Derek's cheek.

"Yes mother," he says with an affection sigh.

Carolyn hugs me again. "Have a great night, you kids."

"Goodnight."

She waves once more before heading down the stairs towards the driveway and into the in-law suite next to the garages.

Derek sets down his wine and takes a seat on one of the many couches and I sit down beside him. I curl my legs up to my chest as Derek wraps his arm around my shoulder. "She can stay in the main house, you know."

"No she can't," Derek says.

"Why not?"

"Because I plan on having sex with you on every surface tonight." He grins at me.

"Oh really? What about what your mom said?"

Derek sips more wine. "She said not to be hungover. There's a difference of being tired from too much sex and from having wine spilling from your pours the next day."

"How much sex were you thinking?"

He leans towards me, his lips a millimeter from mine. "A lot," he whispers.

As we wrap ourselves into each other's arms, there's a rumbling in the distance and the sky lights up with lightening. I open my eyes just for a second to see the flash before melting into Derek once more.

For a long time, we make out like teenagers on the porch. Our hands stay pretty PG and we do all the talking with our mouths. It's nice just to kiss like this, very unlike our typical G-rated pecks or our rushed kisses between events or even during them when we can. We both take our time. After some more making out, some more wine, and hands moving a bit further towards the equator, we head inside.

The main floor of the house is basically one giant room, save for an office and the piano room. Derek has the lights turned off, so the only light comes from the lightening. Outside the storm grows louder, with thunder shaking the window panes every few minutes. Derek kisses me while my back is pressed to the refrigerator and then he kisses me until we're across the room and my hips are resting on the side of the couch.

Derek's hands run down my back and underneath his sweater I borrowed and my own t-shirt. He gently begins to tug up and I raise my arms into the air while he removes my shirt. The room is lit up once again while Derek kisses across my chest and down over the front thinner section of my bra. His tongue laps at my skin, setting me on fire.

"You know," he says between kissing my skin, working his way back up to my lips while holding my hips firmly in his hands. "I like the fancy dresses and the heels. You look good in everything you wear. But I like you in this so much better. _This_ is when you look most beautiful."

I reach my one hand out and run my fingers through his hair. "I don't think your team would approve of this outfit."

"Hmm, probably not. But I do."

I pull him back up so his lips are on mine and I lean into his grip, holding tightly onto his shoulders while we kiss. I feel myself begin falling back and within seconds I'm on my back on the couch with Derek on top of me. We share a laugh.

We don't do any other talking because we're much too busy. I remove Derek's shirt and then his pants, pushing them from his ankles with my feet. Derek's also quick to remove my pants and underwear, leaving me to remove my bra and then his boxers.

For a few minutes, Derek lies on top of me and we just kiss completely naked. I feel him pressed up against me and I'm ready for him, but for just a few minutes, we just be. It's in these moments that I carefully learn the lines and ridges of his face with my finger tips and I feel his heartbeat racing against my chest. It's silly, but I feel most connected with Derek when we're vulnerable like this. And it's not even about the sex. It's about giving ourselves to one another—that's the moment that I feel more connected with him than any other person in my entire life.

Eventually the tension is too much and I want him too badly and it's then that Derek slides inside me. Neither of us makes it very long before we both explode, but for the time we're completely in sync, completely connected and it feels wonderful. Derek kisses my eyelids afterwards and it's something I've only seen in movies, but I understand why people do it.

We get giggly after, rushing around to find our clothes before rushing upstairs. Derek pushes me onto the bed when we reach his room and he's on top of me again. I want him again and again and again, so I open myself to him again.

Outside the storm rages. The rain pitter patters on the windows and the ocean turns menacing, churning and crashing against the beach below. The thunder rumbles and the lightening keeps flashing, illuminating us for just milliseconds at a time. Derek was right when he said we'd spend the night having sex, because that's just what we do. But I don't know, there's something kind of great of letting a storm pass while you spend the night in someone's arms.


	25. Him

**AN: I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I can't believe it's been so long and I feel so terribly that I just left you all without any notice or explanation. Without going into too much detail, I found out I was pregnant a few weeks back and while my husband and I are very excited, my pregnancy has been very difficult thus far. I've been in and out of my OBGYN's office every other day and I've just been horribly sick. I'm doing much, much better now and I finally felt like I could sit down and write for you.**

 **I really, truly appreciate all the love and comments! I am so happy so many of you have been checking in and believe me, I will not be abandoning this story. I have so much more to share with you!**

 **Without further adieu, please read and enjoy. If you have a moment, I'd love to hear from you, so leave a comment.**

 **Thank you again, so very much, for your patience. And for anyone curious, I'm having a girl and she's due in March!**

* * *

"Okay, go over it again."

"Alright. Kate is the oldest. She's married to Dave, the lawyer. They have six kids. In order: Brandon, Caleb, Renee, Sadie, Alice, and Jenny. Nancy is divorced, but her boyfriend Henry is coming. Nancy's kids are Allison, Anna, Anthony, and Abigail. Then there's Lizzie with two and two. Her kids are Jacob, Savannah, Rosalie, and Max. And Lizzie is married to Brian; he's also a doctor. And then Amelia. Single, no kids, so that one should be easy."

I stare at Derek and give him a few long blinks before I lay back onto the mattress and stare at the ceiling. "This is impossible."

He chuckles and sits down beside me. "All you need to remember are my sisters. And my mom. The kids, well, it really is impossible. I think you'll figure out the husbands and boyfriend quickly enough. They all seem to be glued to one another."

"Why do they have to have so many children?"

"They like kids."

For a second I go insane. I know I do because what I ask next is _so_ not me. I'm not the kind of person to rush a relationship, especially a complicated one that has barely touched the three month mark. No, I'm not that person. But for some crazy reason, I hit the gas and ask, "Do you like kids? I mean, do you want any of your own?"

As if the idea of asking Derek about children isn't horrifying enough, I had to ask him as if I was asking if he wanted a piece of pie of his very own.

I sit up quickly. Too quickly. Quickly enough so that Derek doesn't have time to answer.

"Ignore me," I tell him, not even brave enough to look him in the eyes.

Before Derek can say anything, I stand up and walk into the bathroom. I don't shut the door behind me because honestly I think we're both going to try and forget anything just happened, but as I lean into the mirror, trying to pretend to touch up my makeup, I notice Derek leaning against the door in the corner of my eye.

I stand up straight and look at him.

"You're as white as a ghost."

"Yeah. I need sun. Let's go. We should go outside." I walk towards him and try to push past him, but Derek clearly is going to make us have this conversation.

"Why are you freaking out?"

"I'm not. I'm fine."

His eyebrow shoots up.

I sigh and look at my feet. "Don't make me say it."

Derek laughs and runs his one hand down my bare arm. "Meredith, you can ask me anything, you know that." I meet his eyes which are warm and kind. "To answer your question: yes, I want children. I don't want a million like my sisters, but one or two would be nice. And in the vein of honesty, I'm not getting any younger, so I'd want them pretty soon."

"I'm not sure if I want kids," I admit.

Derek nods. "I understand. I'm not asking to impregnate you today," he teases with a slight smile. "Our relationship is new. We don't need to decide today."

"Do you ever feel like we're moving really fast? I mean, I've never met anyone's family before and yeah, I've met them before, but this feels big."

"It is big," Derek says confidently. "And maybe it's fast, but does that make you uncomfortable?"

"No," I say just as confidently.

"Then what's the problem?"

"Nothing, I guess."

Derek flashes me a grin and holds out his hand for me to take. "Come on. Let's get this over with."

We have about a half an hour downstairs with Carolyn before the sisters and their families show up. It's nice to have some quiet time with Carolyn, especially since she genuinely seems to like me. Derek has to make a quick call, so he sneaks off. Carolyn and I sit on the back porch overlooking the ocean.

"Why general surgery?" Carolyn asks.

Everyone always assumes I chose general because of my mother and stepfather, which sure, influenced me, but I never chose general strictly because of them. "I wanted to save people and I know neuro and cardio saves lives. Obviously. But so many neurosurgeons are just looking for the next big inoperable tumor to make news and I've never been inspired by the heart. I wanted to save people with everyday injuries and ailments. I'm not sure if that makes sense."

"It does. Amelia is a neurosurgeon and she's very talented, but she doesn't talk about the day-to-day operations. She's always going on and on about the big stuff."

"Well, to be fair, I think that's all surgeons, but you're right. Neurosurgeons have this air about them. We all think we're gods, but neurosurgeons act like gods."

"God, that's so right," Carolyn says while releasing a deep breath. "I've always tried to pinpoint it, but I never could. You're _so_ right."

I can't help but laugh. "When you spend enough time around neurosurgeons, you learn a thing or two."

"Did you ever want to do anything else? Or was it always going to be surgery?"

"I thought about being a teacher when I was really young."

"Really?" Carolyn asks.

"Yeah. I had this grand plan to have a lot of children and since my mom was never around because surgery can be unpredictable, a teacher's more predictable schedule appealed to me. I wanted to make sure I'd be around early for my kids. But as I got older, I don't know. Suddenly seeing my mom and stepdad so excited about surgery made me excited. I wanted to feel passionate about my job and I wanted to save people."

I glance over at Carolyn and she's staring out at the ocean. "Michael, the kids' father, and I weren't really all that exceptional. He was a woodworker and had a beautiful shop and I was a military nurse for a long time, but both those jobs seemed pretty standard to us."

"Nurses are undervalued," I tell her.

"Yes, they are. But what I'm trying to say is Michael and I were ordinary. Average. But we have these really overachieving, incredible children. I think some people, regardless of their parents, were just meant to be extraordinary. Even with being raised by surgeons, I'm sure you would've found your way into the operating room with a scalpel in hand. It's just who you are."

I give her a warm smile. "You're nice."

She laughs a little. "Did you expect me not to be nice?"

"No. Or maybe. I don't know. I guess I'm just surprised that it seems like you like me. Parents don't usually like me very much."

"You weren't meeting the right parents, then. Plus, you did save my son. I'm predisposed to like you."

I can tell Carolyn is teasing by the way she grins at me. "Well, I sort of had to save him. He is the President, after all."

"Yes, that's true." She pauses for a second and then asks, "How's that going? Dating the President," she clarifies. "I'd imagine it wouldn't be the easiest position for you to be in."

For some reason, I feel like I can be more honest with Carolyn than I am with myself. "It's wonderful because Derek is wonderful, but it's also really uncomfortable. I'm not used to being driven around and living in a home that's not my home. And I don't want to whine or complain because people would kill to be loved by that man and live this life, but it's a hard adjustment." I take a breath and notice Carolyn's face looks a little pinched, like I'm offending her. "And I'm making you mad. I'm sorry. I love Derek and all of this is worth it and—"

"Meredith," she interrupts with a laugh. "Calm down. I was just listening. And I was considering how much harder it probably is than you'd ever admit."

I take a deep breath. "Yeah."

"Well, you're doing beautifully. You're a smart, strong woman. The first few months are probably going to be difficult, but you'll both find your stride eventually."

Derek steps out onto the deck looking as calm and collected as ever. He's wearing a pair of soft jeans and a blue t-shirt and he looks more relaxed than I've ever seen him look. He unhooks a pair of sunglasses from the front of his shirt and slips them on and even behind the dark lenses, I can tell he's looking at me. I can tell from the smile on his lips and the way his shoulders roll back, as if just looking at me gives him a reason to stand taller.

I don't notice Carolyn glancing back at Derek, but then she says quietly, mostly just for me, "I guess you've already found that stride," she says with a laugh and stands. She walks over to Derek and whispers something into his ear before kissing his one cheek. "I'm going to grab a drink. Can I get either of you something?"

"No, thank you," Derek says.

"No thanks."

"You two should get a room," Carolyn says with a laugh before disappearing into the house.

My cheeks turn red. "Stop looking at me."

Derek chuckles. "I'm not looking at you."

"You. You're watching me."

"You're beautiful."

I look up at him as he stands right in front of me. "Fine, watch me. But you better keep your hands to yourself today. There'll be children around."

Derek offers me his hand and he helps me stand. "There aren't children here yet." He leans down to kiss my neck.

I push him away, but if I'm being honest, I don't really try to push him far. "Your mother is right on the other side of this glass wall."

Derek kisses my mouth. "So? We can go upstairs."

"No."

He kisses right beside my lips, just catching the corner of my mouth.

"Derek…" I say with a sigh that should sound exasperated, but it comes out almost like a moan.

"Meredith…" he says in the same tone.

Just as I'm about to give in, I hear brakes screeching from the driveway. And then car doors open and shut. And then lots and lots of voices. Lots of little voices. I push Derek away and he goes willingly. He slides his hands into his pockets and still gives me that look. Our look. But he stays five feet away.

"Let the games begin."

\\\\\

I am overwhelmed almost instantly. Not by the children though, which is what I had expected. I'm not really a kid person, so I'd imagined they'd all swarm me and ask questions, but they seem to swarm each other instead. The kids range from teenagers all the way down to toddlers and they all pair or group up pretty quickly. Derek hugs them all, even an older teenage boy who looks like he'd like to be far away, and Derek introduces me, but the kids say hi and pass by quickly.

The sisters are the ones to overwhelm me.

It starts with Lizzie, who Derek tells me has always been the pushy one. She wraps me in a hug, which is strange enough, and then begins to talk my ear off. She introduces me to Brian and points out her kids, but I can barely pick an individual out from the mass of screaming kids running around the yard. "How's everything going?" she asks. "I saw a picture of you and Derek in the paper the other day. You _have_ to visit Connecticut. You can leave Derek behind if he's too busy, but you have to come. Especially in the Fall. We have this really amazing—"

"Lizzie," Derek says in a tone that says: _stop talking_.

She gives him a smile. "You can come, too, you know."

"I was in Connecticut last year," he says and hugs her.

" _You_ were on the campaign trail. That doesn't count."

"Yes it does," Derek says and gives me a smile over his sister's shoulder.

Another pair of arms encircles me and it's Kate. "You look thinner. Are you doing okay?" she asks.

"Kate," Derek sighs.

She pulls away and keeps staring at me like I'm a patient in her office. Like I'm about to spill all my secrets. Kate waves her hand in the air as if she's dismissing his tone. "I'm not prying, I'm just _concerned_."

"Well don't be. Meredith is fine."

"Yes, I'm fine," I say quickly. "How are you?" I ask, trying to deflect the attention.

"Very well, thank you."

Next is Nancy, who doesn't seem thrilled about hugging me, but she does any way. I can't tell why she doesn't seem to like me, but when I mentioned it to Derek, he said she doesn't seem to like anyone. "This is Henry, my boyfriend, and before you ask, I am divorced."

"I wasn't going to ask," I say.

"Nancy, come on," Derek says with yet a different tone. I'm quickly realizing he has these tones for each of his sisters. I never heard them in the hospital because he was barely himself and I didn't hear them at lunch that one day because it seems like everyone was on their best behavior. Today, everyone is just letting themselves fly.

"Now calm down, my brother. I'm just joking." She hugs him.

"Well, you're not a funny person, then."

Nancy play-slaps his shoulder.

And last, but not least, is Amelia. She looks different from the last time I saw her. Sick, maybe. She does hug me, still, and she smells of cigarettes. "Welcome to Derek's palace."

As I pull back, I give her a smile. "I'd say the White House is really is palace. This place is more like his vacation home."

Amelia doesn't smile and when I glance at Derek, he looks angry. "Ah yes, the good son." She goes to hug Derek and he shakes his head.

"Amy, come here." He takes her by the arm and walks inside with her. The whole thing happens very quickly. Amelia doesn't resist, but goes with Derek. Although she doesn't look necessarily happy.

Kate must see the confusion on my face. She leans in and says quietly. "Amelia has some…issues." It seems like Kate doesn't want to give too much away, so she pauses for a long moment and then finally admits. "She's a junkie."

"What?"

"She and Derek are the closest, so when she's fallen off the wagon, he tends to take it…poorly."

"But, she always seems fine when I see her."

Kate nods. "Well, she must've fallen off the wagon. Again."

I can see Derek and Amelia in the living room through the glass doors and it seems like they're shouting at one another. Carolyn in in there, too, and she's mediating, but it doesn't seem to be working. I feel badly about spying, so I turn my attention back to the other sisters. I give Lizzie a smile, since she's the first to lock eyes with me, and I ask, "What can I get you all to drink?"

\\\\\

Amelia walks out of the house not long after I've gotten drinks from the cooler for the rest of the family. She goes right down to where the kids are playing in the yard and begins to run around with them, as if nothing has happened at all. Carolyn comes out a few minutes later, squeezes my upper arm as she walks past, and heads down towards Amelia and the kids. Not long later, a whole group of them run onto the beach.

I find Derek inside on the phone. I plan to turn back around and head outside, but he nods at me, crosses the room, and loops his arm around my back. He kisses the top of my head.

"No, the video _must_ remain private," he says into the phone.

I look up at him and he doesn't seem angry. He doesn't seem anything. "Well can't you stop this? We can't just have this video release."

I run my palm up and down his back. "Alan, _we're_ the government. _We_ have the power to stop this. So stop it." Alan, Derek's Chief of Staff, is speaking on the other end of the line. Derek cuts him off, "I don't care. We can't just have a beheading video floating around Facebook and YouTube. Get in contact with the CIA. We need to find the leak. Call me back when you do."

Derek ends the call and sighs.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

He forces a smile. "Yes."

"You don't have to be, you know. That conversation sounded…intense."

Derek lets his guard down. "My job never stops."

I think about not bringing it up, but I want us to have a good day, so I ask, "And Amelia?" I figure if he actually talks about what might be bothering him, then he might feel better.

"Did one of my sisters say anything to you?"

"Maybe," I say sheepishly.

Derek shakes his head. "Let me guess: Kathleen?"

"I won't reveal my sources."

"Yeah, well no one seems to be revealing their sources today."

I believe his phone call has something to do with that comment. "We don't have to talk about it. I just thought, maybe you'd want to."

Derek quiet for a long moment. His hand holds firmly to my hip, not too tight, but tight enough to really feel the pressure. It's almost as if he's using me to stay grounded, which is a new feeling for me. I've never been the one to keep someone else grounded.

"She's sober, or so she says."

I'm not sure if I believe it, based on how she looks, but I don't mention that. I do ask, however, "Do you believe her?"

"I do. I mean, she looks like a mess and she reeks of cigarettes, but that's actually very on brand for newly sober Amelia. She doesn't sleep much when she's coming down and she smokes a lot as a replacement. By the month mark, she should be back to normal. Although for Amelia, I'm not really sure what normal is." He says the last part more for himself, I think.

"How long as this been going on?"

"Since she was a kid. She got sober in college and was clean through med school and her internship, but the last few years have been tough and me getting shot didn't help her sobriety."

"It's not your fault."

"I know." He nods. "But she's struggling."

"So be there for her. Don't yell at her when she's struggling," I give him a look. "Be supportive."

"You make it sound easy," he says.

I can tell it's not easy for him; if it were, Derek would be giving her a break, but since he hasn't I know there's more history then he's letting me in on. "It's not easy, but it's what she needs."

Derek cups my cheek and then leans down to kiss me softly. "I love you."

Before I can say anything he's heading outside and down the long steps towards the beach. I walk back out onto the porch and his other sisters and their significant others watch, just as I do, as Derek heads out to the water where his nieces and nephews play and where his mother and sister watch on. "Come on," Lizzie says to her husband and Nancy, her boyfriend, Kate, and her husband all follow.

"Come on, Meredith," Nancy says over her shoulder and I feel completely accepted.

"I'll be right there," I call after them, wanting just another minute to watch Derek.

He throws his arm around Amelia's shoulder and she leans into him. She closes her eyes and they embrace. For a long time, they just stand in the surf. I can tell Derek's saying something to her and Amelia nods and then brushes away tears.

I find myself forgetting sometimes that Derek isn't just my boyfriend and the President of the United States. He's a brother to his sisters, a son to his mother, and the last Shepherd man in his household. Before I knew Derek, he had this whole life, a life I'm just now seeing. Seeing him with his mom and the rest of the family makes me picture a future with him. Derek rushes towards one of his nieces and throws her into the air, making her scream with glee. After our earlier conversation, I know Derek is the one I want to build a family with.

To myself, I say, "I'm going to marry him."

* * *

 **Thank you, so, so much to the following people who left me the kindest messages: Hasi2012 x2, Pat x2, DrMerder, Hitam1 x2, Guest x6, ScarvesAndCoffee579, gabs, ForeverMerDer x2, Carla, Hope, Beth00011, Patsy x2, We'reNotGonnaPayRent, Gretchen, Jackie, nltpurpolia, Awesome Allison, Harryfan626, two harts, unnamedconspirator, and greyhouses.**


	26. Yes

**AN: Look at me, updating on time! I am just so blown away by the very, very kind feedback after my last AN (and of course the story)! Your congratulations and patience has been so well-received and I want to thank you all for being the kindest readers in the world. I have hit my stride with this story again and I'm so happy to be sharing with you. I was so thrilled to receive SO MANY comments on the last chapter with so many familiar names and so many new readers. Welcome! And thank you all.**

 **Before you read this next section, I just want to remind you that despite the last few chapters showing the great sides of Meredith dating the President, there are some very big drawbacks and we're going to see some in this chapter. Don't fret! You've trusted me this long and I hope you continue to do so!**

* * *

My day starts off good. I wake up to a text from my very hot, very Presidential boyfriend that wishes me a good morning and reminds me about the dress I'll be wearing to a very fancy party at the White House tonight will be waiting for me at the White House so we can get ready together. I reply back something akin to possible sexting, but a more PG version in case the NSA is keeping tabs. Who am I kidding? Of course the NSA is keeping tabs.

I take a shower, check my phone for any alerts about my patients (luckily finding none), and then head downstairs. I find a pot of coffee has been made for me, which is now a routine between Toby and I. Since he gets here so early in the morning, he starts a pot and grabs a mug before heading downstairs to monitor the house before I'm ready to go. I like the routine a lot. It makes this place feel more like a home than somewhere I've been carted away to for "my own protection."

I grab an apple and walk into the living room and flip on the TV. I can immediately tell Derek was the last person to watch my TV because the news is on. I usually find a blank screen when I turn the TV on because I'd been watching a surgical tape the last time. I'm about to change the channel to the weather when I hear my own name.

"—Meredith Grey. Look, I like that this President is shown to have a social life. Every modern President has been so buttoned up and he feels like a less playboy version of JFK. But that doesn't mean he should keep taking weekends off to spend with his girlfriend. It's exactly what we were afraid would happen; he needs to spend all this time with her to get to know her and he's ignoring his responsibilities."

"And what responsibilities are those?"

"What responsibilities?" The female anchor asks. "Well we were all just bombarded with a tape that shows a doctor being decapitated by ISIS and he wasn't even around to address the nation. He was too busy drinking whisky in Maine."

"It's scotch," I say to myself.

The male anchor replies, "I believe the President doesn't even drink whisky."

I smile.

"That is so beside the point."

"So what is your point, Elise?"

"My point is: the President needs to focus and, almost as important, Doctor Grey needs to focus. I did some digging and I learned that she's been pushing her elective surgeries and she's been handing off patients she's spent days, weeks, or months with to lesser doctors so she can be wined and dined on the tax-payers dollars."

Another female anchor chimes in and says, "Oh come on. Derek Shepherd was loaded before he became President. I'm sure that's his own money he used."

"Not for Air Force One," Elise fights back.

"Did you check the tax sheet for Air Force One?" The male anchor asks.

"No, but we all know tax-payers support Air Force One."

The other female anchor shakes her head. "I think this whole conversation is ridiculous. The President isn't expected to be in the White House every day. Yes, he's held to a higher standard, but the Presidency is a job and the man should be able to spend a rather tame weekend with his family without people judging."

"Our job as reporters is to report and I think the American people deserve to know that both the President and the good doctor are shirking their responsibilities."

The camera focuses on the male anchor and he seems less than happy. "While I don't agree with my colleague's assessment of the weekend, it does seem like President Shepherd, Doctor Grey, and the Shepherd family had a great time at the President's home in Maine. Here are some of the photos we received, including the two released by the White House of the President and Doctor Grey stepping onto and off of Air Force One."

I stare at the photos, which I haven't seen yet, and don't immediately cringe. I don't really look like myself, but I don't look bad. To be honest, I look like a First Lady, which is just weird.

"We also have these few from their time on the beach and an afternoon cookout. Here is President Shepherd playing with his nieces and nephews in the water and another, which shows a tender moment between the President and Doctor Grey as he barbecues and she stands by his side with her hand on his back. Pretty romantic," he says with a tone.

I feel my veins run cold as I stare at the photos. They're from close up, just casual photos taken while we spent the day together. I think it was Kate taking the photos. So why are personal photos being displayed for the world when Derek _promised_ the only photos would be from Air Force One?

I set down my coffee and apple and dial Derek's number. The phone rings twice when his secretary picks up. "President Shepherd's office. How may I direct your call?"

"Sophie, its Meredith. Is he available?"

"No, I'm sorry Doctor Grey, he's not at the White House. He's at a local school today. Would you like me to patch you through to his cell phone?"

I hate that when I call and Derek's not in the office but he's working, that the call is directed to Sophie immediately. It means half the time, I can't reach him and I feel badly patching through when the last time I did that, he thought something was seriously wrong. "No," I say with a sigh. "Just have him call me."

"Will do," she says brightly.

My morning suddenly feels darker. I'm sure Derek didn't permit those photos to be released, but I'm equally sure Kate would never sell photos of us. So that leaves me confused. Obviously they're not terrible, but I was promised we'd have a weekend without people watching and I was looking forward to just having my guard down. Now it feels like I can't ever let my guard down when Derek's around.

It's time to go and I can't watch anymore news, so I turn off the TV, dump my coffee into a to-go cup, put my apple in my purse, and take the elevator downstairs. Toby is waiting for me and opens the back door for me. I do greet him when he greets me, but I don't ask him how he's doing. Toby must notice and as we pull out from the garage, he asks, "Are you okay?"

I think about saying nothing, but I realize very few people understand what a drag the day-to-day can be. However, I still don't want to talk about my problems, so instead I ask, "Why did you start this job?"

Toby glances at me in the rearview mirror.

"I mean, _how_ did you get here?"

"I'm a Marine and I was asked and when you're asked by the Commander-in-Chief to serve your country, you serve."

"Do you like the job? The publicity?"

"I don't get any publicity," he says.

I have the image of Toby knocking down the man who shot Derek floating in my head. No one could stop talking about him for weeks. "You had some publicity. Back in January."

Toby's quiet for a moment. I wonder what that day was like for him. The rush and probably the fear would've been hard to take for anyone. I want to ask, but I don't.

"I didn't like the publicity," he admits. "I'm a private person. I suspect you're feeling weighted down by it all, especially after the news this morning."

"You saw that?"

He nods, focusing back on the road. "I saw." He says nothing. Neither of us say anything. I'm thinking about the stupid reporter again, just getting angrier, but Toby distracts me. "That night you and the President spent at Camp David," he begins and my cheeks turn red. I expect him to admit to me maybe he saw something. I can't believe I'd ever think that because Toby has been nothing but nice to me. "Grant did a perimeter check and came back to the cabins and we talked. About you and the President."

"What did you say?"

Toby looks apologetic when he says, "I wasn't sure you could handle it. The people asking questions, the responsibility. I'm sorry about that."

"It's okay," I say and mean. "I wasn't sure I could hack it either."

"Grant had all the faith in you. He told me that."

"Why? Neither of you knew me."

"Because _he_ has faith in you."

I know he means Derek. I smile.

"When did you decide I could handle it? Or are you still undecided?"

He laughs. "I'm not undecided. I know you can do this and I figured it out after that dinner with the little girl who was sick."

"Allison," I say fondly. "She has Huntington's."

"What happened to her?" he asks.

"My mom has a former colleague who works with Huntington's patients. He's in Massachusetts. Allison's mom called me last week to tell me they're moving there full-time so Allison can be working with Doctor Burton for the foreseeable future."

"So that's good," he says.

I nod. "Yes, very good."

Toby grins. "See, I knew that day you could handle your own."

We pull up to the hospital and Toby continues underneath to the private garage. There are a few paparazzi waiting at the gate, but they're always there. They haven't gotten one picture of me yet. Toby parks the car and climbs out to get my door. I grab my things.

"Thanks," I tell him as I stand and he shuts the door.

"I'll see you at six sharp, or else the President will kill me."

"Six it is," I agree. I begin to walk away, but I keep thinking… "Hey Toby?"

He turns to me, "Yeah?"

"What's your first name?"

"Matt, but don't tell Grant I told you."

I smile. "I won't tell _Tom_ you told me."

Toby laughs and slides back into the car.

The momentary relief I feel after speaking to Toby wears off quickly as I approach the OR board after changing into my scrubs and lab coat. I was scheduled for a 10am liver donation between a father and son. I was going to receive the liver to put into his son, but as I read the board, my name isn't there. SURGEON: MILLER. My first instinct is to see the Chief.

I remember when I first began working at Georgetown, I was afraid to approach Richard for anything. He wasn't the Chief yet back then, but was appointed the position not even six months after I began. I didn't want my class to think I was given special treatment, even though it took them a while to figure out Richard was my stepfather. However, after years of worry, Richard assured me that there was no reason I couldn't come talk to him as my Chief, as long as I didn't try to use our familiar relationship in my argument and vice versa.

As I knock on the Chief's door, he looks up at me and doesn't seem surprised. "Meredith, good to see you. Why don't you take a seat?" He stands and motions to one of the two chairs in front of his desk.

"Chief," I begin, and my tone sounds more desperate than I'd like.

"I'm Richard for the moment. How was your weekend in Maine?"

And just like that, I'm smiling again because I learned a long time ago how to quickly become Meredith again, and not Doctor Grey, in the Chief's office. "It was amazing. We had such a good time. The house is so beautiful."

"I'm glad. You know, I've never been to Maine. I'm thinking Ellis and I might need a little vacation."

"You should go! Derek's place is right by Acadia National Park and we went hiking Sunday morning and it was perfect. With the Fall right around the corner, you should consider going soon. The leaves are supposed to be beautiful."

"I'll talk to Ellis, then."

"Good."

A minute later, we're the Chief and Doctor Grey.

"I believe you had something you wanted to say when you came in here?"

"My surgery," I begin cryptically. "Dennis and Charlie Robinson? I've been working with them for over a week trying to diagnose the son and I have their surgeries scheduled this morning for a liver transplant and my name isn't on the board. In fact, my name isn't listed for either the father or son. Do you know anything about this?"

The Chief nods, "I do. I had your name taken off the case."

I honestly didn't expect that answer. "You did? Why?"

"Doctor Grey, I know your life has seen some changes in the last few months and I was forgiving back in April when you needed time off, but I'm not feeling so forgiving any longer. You have not worked a full week of work since May. You take off for long weekends more than anyone else on staff and you arrive late and leave early."

"I'm rarely late," I fight, deciding to take this discussion piece of piece since it's all bullshit.

Richard opens a folder on his desk and pulls out a rough timesheet. "You have been late twenty-six days since May and you've left early fourteen. You've taken four long weekends, eight other days, not to mention the near-week you were gone in April."

"Richard—" I begin, but am quickly interrupted.

"I am your Chief in this room, Doctor Grey. Please do not confuse me for your stepfather right now."

"Yes, of course," I say and I feel bad because I know not to confuse the two and that's exactly what I was doing. "Sir, I understand the concern, but I do have time off."

The Chief pulls out another sheet. "No, you don't." He slides it across his desk. "I've accumulated the time and you do not have any more vacation days, especially since you already put in for Christmas."

I read the sheet and I am shocked because I've never used all my days before. I don't even know how many days I had, until now. "Chief—" I let the word hang because I don't know what else to say.

"Look, Doctor Grey, I do understand you're being pulled two different ways, and if this were any other job, I'd be lenient, but we're doctors and we have people counting on us. To be honest with you, Dennis Robinson _asked_ for a different doctor." I must look shocked. "He likes you very much, but he thought you were distracted."

"I'm not distracted."

"You are and I've noticed it, too."

I sit back in my chair, feeling utterly terrible. "So what now?"

He sighs. "I know you have obligations and I'm going to be patient, but you cannot be late again and, I'm sorry for this, but I can't allow you to take any more time off."

I think about the weekends Derek has mentioned in passing, which to Derek, are already on the schedule for the two of us. He has a trip to Prague next month and another to Seattle, both of which I'm expected to go to. I know we have more events I'm expected to attend, but if any of them require an entire day, I don't know how I'm going to swing it.

"You can still switch your days, but I hope you keep your patients in mind."

"I always keep my patients in mind." I am furious that he'd even suggest it.

I can tell he's now just Richard as he sighs and says, "I hate being this way. You know that."

And so I'm Meredith. "I know. I'm trying to keep everything afloat, but clearly I'm letting work slip."

"You worked so hard to be here, Meredith. I'd hate for you to lose everything."

My pager beeps and I'm thankful for the excuse to leave because the way Richard is looking at me makes me feel incredibly pathetic. "I have to go," I say, despite the page just coming from Cristina. "So, just to be clear, my Christmas time is still approved?"

I can't tell if Richard is disappointed that _this_ is what I asked, but I need to be clear when I tell Derek. Even if he is disappointed, he doesn't say so. "Yes, those are your last days until January 1st."

"Thank you." I stand and head to the door. I pause and say over my shoulder, "I'm sorry."

As I leave I hear Richard say, "It's okay."

\\\\\

Derek is waiting for me as I step off the elevator at the White House. People are buzzing around, getting ready for the dinner, but Derek just stands there with a smile on his face. He isn't dressed yet for dinner because I know he likes to get ready with me when he can.

I step off the elevator and take Derek's outstretched hand. "Hi," he says.

"Hi."

He leans in and kisses me. As he pulls away, Derek gives me a look. "Are you okay?"

My day has been a pain in the ass since the moment I watched that news anchor drag me through the mud. I kept hoping my day would get better, even after speaking to Richard, but it didn't. And now I'm here and I'm supposed to be happy and smiling and I feel far from bright and shiny. I know none of this is Derek's fault, not really, but I'm standing before him blaming him for everything. I feel guilty to be blaming him, but I can't help but focus on that fact that the problems I've faced today are because of our relationship.

But then I remind myself I chose this relationship.

I force the feelings all the way down and force a smile onto my face. "I'm fine. Just tired."

Derek wraps his arm around my waist and begins to walk me towards his private quarters. "Well, this won't be a long night, I promise."

"Good," I say with relief.

When we get to the room, Derek showers and I'm set up with my, now regular, beauty team. They all babble about their days and other clients and whatever else while my hair is styled, my nails are painted, and my makeup is expertly applied. I used to allow them to do whatever they wanted with my hair, face, and nails, but after a particularly dramatic cat eye and hair that was way too big to be mine, I've asked them to rein it in. I still want to feel like myself while I'm dripping in diamonds and wearing a dress that costs thousands of dollars.

An hour later, Derek walks out of the bathroom in a tuxedo, looking as good as ever. I turn my back towards him and ask, "Zip me up?"

I feel Derek's fingers trailing along my spine as he slowly zips my dress up. He kisses my shoulder afterwards.

"You called me today and I didn't find time to call you back."

I remember the pictures of us taken by Kate. "I saw some pictures from our weekend on the news this morning. I wanted to see where they came from."

"Kate took them," he says casually while putting on his cufflinks.

I turn to face Derek and my big, royal purple dress nearly strangles my legs as I do. "She sold them to the news?" I ask, although I'm still not sure how these things work.

He shakes his head. "No, she gave them to my press secretary and Lily released a few."

"But I thought the only pictures from this weekend would be getting on and off Air Force One."

"No. Well, those were the only paparazzi photos, but we needed to release a few and Kate takes the best out of the group." He laughs. "You should see my mom's camera skills. She's terrible. All the photos of us as babies have her thumb in the viewfinder."

Derek doesn't seem phased. He doesn't seem to notice how angry I am. So I ask, "Why did we _need_ to release photos?"

"What do you mean?" He's finally focused on me.

"Why did we need to release photos?" I repeat.

For a moment, Derek says nothing, as if he's trying to think up a reason. He finally says, "It's just part of it."

"Part of what? A vacation? A weekend with your family?"

"Meredith, I don't understand why you're upset right now. We had a good weekend, right?"

"Yes, of course we did, but you _promised_ me the only photos from the weekend would be the two in the beginning. You didn't say anything about releasing personal photos."

"I'm sure I told you—"

"No, you didn't," I interrupt. "You said two photos and then 'we're clear the entire weekend.'"

Derek sighs and walks over towards me. "I'm sorry." I expect an explanation, but none comes.

"That's it?"

"What more do you want?"

"I want you to keep your promises," I start. "I want you to stop pushing me beyond where I'm comfortable. I told you I wasn't interested in being in the limelight, but you keep pushing me there. I agreed to the dinners and the public appearances because it makes your life easier, but for just one weekend, I wanted privacy with you and your family, and you completely disregarded my feelings."

Derek looks confused. "We have privacy all the time."

"No, we don't. The only time I see you alone is before and after these dinners. Sometimes I'm allowed to stay here, but most of the time I'm shipped off to that stupid house across the street."

"I am so tired of hearing about the house!" Derek yells.

I take a step back from him, hating the way we both sound as we yell at each other.

Derek takes a deep breath, most likely to calm himself and he says, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. But my team was using the story of you visiting Maine as a detractor from some of the bad news lately. They were hoping to lighten the load. I should've run it by you."

I cross my arms over my chest and look away for a second, trying to collect my thoughts. I am so mad at everything today and as much as I'm trying, I can't put the feelings I have for Derek aside. In my mind, how much I love him is entangled with how often I find myself becoming someone different so I can be who the public needs me to be.

When I don't say anything for a long time, Derek asks, "Are we okay?"

I want to say no. I really want to say no. But I can't right now because he looks like I've wounded him and I feel wounded. We have to go out and smile and I can't if I tell him no. So I swallow my feelings for a moment and force myself to nod. I can't smile right now, but as soon as the lightbulbs begin flashing, I'll smile. I have to.

So I to answer his question, I say, "Yes."

* * *

 **Special thanks to the following for commenting: Jasmin Kenobi, Patsy, Kachelle486, Paz, oolivchen, Guest x4, Hitam1, gguest, xxxjoxxx, i am harrypotter 94, CoffeewithCream, Jackiiieeee111, Daddysgirl93, Clara, CamillaGrey, alexatm, two harts, mandyg67, bj188, Hasi2012, ntlpurpolia, Holly, mrs addiecullen, fenisia18, Pat, yesu ciniestasm, Gabs, colorful swirls, and maribelbordeaux1.**


	27. Incredible

**AN: Happy Saturday beautiful people! I apologize for the delay on this chapter. It actually isn't anything baby related, but more writing related. I couldn't get this chapter to work how I wanted. I kept rewriting and changing my mind, but now I'm happy enough to publish. Thank you for your patience!**

 **As always, I appreciate all the comments and love. And I'm happy to say I'm still feeling well and my little girl is doing well, too. The doctors say she's developing perfectly, so that's good news!**

 **I look forward to hearing your thoughts after this next chapter! xo**

* * *

 **MEREDITH**

I'm scrubbing out from my first scheduled morning surgery when Cristina walks into the scrub room.

"Hey," she says.

I always count when I'm scrubbing in or out, even though it's not so necessary when scrubbing out, but I stop as Cristina leans against the sink. "What's up?" I ask because Cristina looks like she needs something.

"Nothing. Do you want to grab lunch?"

"It's not even ten."

"Fine, second breakfast."

I shake out my hands and grab a towel. "I have another surgery."

"Back to back surgeries? You're either the luckiest person here or you're feeling guilty about something."

My scrub nurse, Brenda, walks out of the OR and hands me my patient's chart. I leave the scrub room with Cristina in tow. We walk to the nurse's station and I flip open the chart to make my notes. "The Chief isn't happy with all the time I've been taking off to spend time with Derek. Apparently I've used up all my days off so yeah, I guess it's partially guilt. I can't complain about getting more OR time, though."

"Wait, _he_ , like Richard? Isn't he supposed to be passing the torch to Bailey?"

"He's still officially the Chief until the end of next week. I guess he's still the enforcer."

"Doesn't Derek have all these weekends planned until the end of time?"

"Yes."

"So he's probably not happy about the news."

I make a point to not look at Cristina when I say, "He doesn't know."

I can feel Cristina staring at me. "Oh," is all she says.

"What does that mean?"

"Nothing." She leans back against the countertop. "I just find it interesting." I give her a look. "You've told me about a million times that you and Derek are honest with each other and…I don't know. I feel like you might want to tell him about this."

"I'm going to tell him. Next time I see him."

"Didn't you see him last night?"

I don't want to talk about our fight and I don't want to start fighting with Cristina, so with a sigh I say, "Do you really care what I do and don't tell Derek?"

She thinks for just a second before saying, "No." Very nonchalant.

"Great. Now what do you need?" My voice is on edge.

Cristina raises her hands in surrender. "Touch-y." She begins to walk away from me. "I didn't need anything."

I feel bad. "Cristina, I'm—"

The lights go out.

 **DEREK**

"'We do not negotiate with known terrorists. America is a country formed by the hard work of our ancestors and our ancestors did not bend under the rule of the British and we will not—'" I put down my speech. "Alec, we might not want to throw the British under the bus right now. They have enough on their plate with the Brexit. Also, let's go with something more current." I hand off my speech that I'm sure my speech writer has spent hours on.

"The Iraq War," the Vice President suggests.

"Maybe, but don't use the phrase: _The Iraq War_. Al-Qaeda would be better. Let's compare terror with terror, not Protestants versus Catholics. We want teenagers to understand what we're talking about."

Alec grabs the speech and nods. "Yes sir. I'll get started right away."

"Thank you." Alec leaves the room and I take a sip of coffee. "Besides the terror speech tonight, what else do we have on the agenda?"

"Have you decided on how you want to handle the news dragging you and Meredith from this past weekend?" Lily asks and the answer is no. I don't want to talk or think about it.

But to be honest, all I've thought about is Meredith and this past weekend for almost a full day now. I knew that Meredith lied to my face when I asked her if we were good last night. I can't remember telling her I wouldn't release any other photos, but I do understand her frustration. The weekend should've been private, but I thought by releasing some very PG photos, we could cover some bases for a while. I didn't expect one little news broadcast to be picked up by all the other stations and regurgitated by every national and local station. By the time dinner started last night, all the news anchors in the country had seemingly given their opinion on whether or not Meredith and I are shirking our responsibilities.

I text Meredith this morning and she did text me back, but I could tell her tone was off. She's unhappy with me. I'm unhappy, too, but more for not being honest with her. I think, deep down, I knew I was doing something wrong.

I still haven't figured it out how to make it up to her and I guess I won't be figuring it out right now, because Grant steps away from the wall and says, "Sir, we have a situation." Grant has his phone pressed to his ear and then the lights go out.

 **MEREDITH**

"We have three major accidents," Bailey says as we walk through the already overflowing ER. Cristina and Alex are right by my side. "Four ambulances are on their way with those who were able to be extracted, but half a dozen patients remain on scene. I need you three to go." We all pause by the ER doors to grab gear. "Alex, there's a five year old who is stuck with his mother. Cristina, I've been told there's an impalement through the lungs."

"And the patient is still alive?" Cristina asks.

Bailey hands us all packs. "I'm hearing she's still _talking_. I want you to be safe, but I also want you to save these patients. Grey, we're talking major internal injuries. I'm assuming abdomens will be full of free fluid. Work quickly."

"Got it." I pull on my jacket and pin my badge to the outside.

The three of us run outside with Bailey following and we all climb into the rig while Bailey shuts the first door. "Report back as soon as you can and… take care of each other," she says before shutting the second door.

Alex pins his badge onto the outside of his coat and nudges Cristina. "Right," she says and does the same. "So what, the power is out everywhere?" she asks.

I shrug just as the rig driver, Will, says through the open viewing window. "The power is out all across the city. I've heard it extends further, too. Maybe Philadelphia and Baltimore. There are elevators stuck, car accidents, and even emergency plane landings."

"Have any planes crashed?" Alex asks.

"Not that I know of."

"How are planes crashing?" Cristina asks.

No one has an answer.

I pull out my phone to see if Derek's checked in, but I have no new messages. I don't think about the fact that I probably should have security with me. It doesn't cross my mind. I have a job to do and that's my first priority.

Cristina asks, "Checking to see if there's something from Derek?"

"Yeah."

"He's probably busy," Alex says.

"Yeah."

Alex shakes his head as we pull up to the scene a few minutes later. "What the hell happened?"

 **DEREK**

I walk down the hallway with Alan and the rest of my team at my heels. Lily is talking a mile a minute. "We need to send out a crisis alert. The internet is down, but phones should still be receiving alerts, right?"

"Yes, the alert system is still up and running," the Vice President says as he follows me towards the Situation Room.

"Sir," my Chief of Defense stops me in the hallway. "Planes, sir. There's no transmission from ground control and they're having to emergency land. We have one crashed plane in Vermont."

I feel my stomach turn to knots. "Where was it heading and how many people?"

"It was a flight between New York and Montreal and there were fifteen souls on board. There's no word yet on any survivors. It just happened."

"Why is transmission from ground control down? I thought they'd moved to an offline system."

My Chief of Defense says, "The plane's origin was from a smaller airport on Long Island. They hadn't yet updated."

"Are we sure this isn't a terrorist attack?" I ask as we reach the elevator.

No one says anything.

I turn to my team.

"Sir, what do you want to do?" Alan asks.

I want to call Meredith. I know she's fine. She's at work. She's safe. But I want to call her and make sure she's safe. I want to ask her to come to the White House where I know she'll be safe. I want to ignore all the protocols and the hours of digging we're going to have to do to figure out what's happening, and I want to talk to my girlfriend.

But I know millions of people are confused and scared. Millions of people are in potential danger if we don't figure out what's going on. So I can't be just Derek right now. I have work to do.

"Let's call the local energy companies and find out what's happening."

 **MEREDITH**

The scene is as chaotic as expected. There is a five car pileup in the middle of an intersection and while some patients are being treated by EMTs, there are still plenty pinned inside their cars. Cristina is talking to one of the officers and Alex is immediately dragged away to help the child stuck with his mother. I notice a few firefighters kneeling by a car and a woman half sticking out from beneath her wrecked car. I run in that direction.

"Hi, I'm Doctor Grey," I say to everyone and then kneel down next to the woman. "What's your name?"

"Monica Parker," she says with blood in the corners of her mouth.

I press my fingers to her pulse, which feels weak. "Okay Monica, is there anyone else in the car with you?"

"N-no."

"And what hurts, Monica?"

She tries to shake her head. "Nothing. I just…can't breathe very well."

I hear her struggling to breathe. I can't see her legs, but I can see that part of her dashboard is cutting into her abdomen. There doesn't appear to be blood though. I lean back on my heels and look up at the firefighters. "Can you get her out?"

They all look at each other and then one says, "We'll have to cut her out."

Cutting her out may kill her if her injuries are worse than they appear. And the blood in her mouth makes me concerned. She might be only holding on because the dashboard is keeping her from bleeding out. But doing nothing will surely kill her. "Cut her out."

I turn my attention back to Monica. "Where were you going?" I ask.

"W-work."

"Where do you work?"

She tries to laugh, but I hear the fluid in her lungs making that difficult. "I'm a nurse."

I nod. "Good. We need more nurses. Can you tell me anything you felt after the accident or maybe right now? Anything at all."

Monica appears to be thinking. I hear the firefighters grabbing the tools they need behind me. "My chest hurts," she finally says.

"That's a good sign, Monica. That means your upper spine is intact."

She nods and I see a tear fall from her left eye. "Doctor Grey?" she asks.

"Yes."

"Are you the doctor dating the President?"

I think about saying no, but what's the point? My face is everywhere. "Yes. I am."

Monica smiles, which seems pretty ghoulish with the blood in her mouth. "You're lucky. He's hot."

I laugh. "He is hot. If you hold on, I'll ask him to meet you."

Her eyes flutter open and closed. "That would be…" She goes quiet.

I feel for her pulse and it's gone. "I need some help here!" I call out.

 **DEREK**

I sit at the head of the Situation Room while my team fills me in on everything they know.

"It seems like the blackout is due to an alarm failure at a plant in New Jersey. Much like the blackout of 2003," one of the defense team members says. "We're on a smaller scale though, thankfully. All of Virginia, DC, Maryland, New Jersey, and parts of New York."

"And New York City?" someone asks.

"Manhattan and the Bronx are dark, but Brooklyn, Queens, and State Island are still holding. They recently changed to a different grid after Hurricane Sandy."

I stare up at the monitor showing the dark parts of the eastern seaboard. "I want a team researching this. If it's something other than an alarm, which would feel pretty suspicious since it happened before, we're going to find it. I want the power back up by midnight. No exceptions."

"Yes sir," Alan says.

"I need to make an address," I tell Alan.

He nods. "You do."

"But I need more information first. So, let's break this down from the second the power stopped."

Everyone settles in for a long meeting.

 **MEREDITH**

I am pumping Monica's chest. I've been pumping her chest for at least a minute and a half.

"Uh, doctor?" someone behind me says, but I ignore him.

Cristina appears at my side. "How long has she been down?"

"Almost two minutes."

Cristina puts an oxygen mask over Monica's face.

"Come on. Come on!" I say to Monica, pumping and pumping and—

Monica takes a breath. I release the breath I was holding. I give her a small smile when her eyes open. "Don't do that to me again."

She nods.

I sit back on my heels and look up at the firefighters. "Cut her out." I remove the oxygen, not wanting any sparks to explode us all. Cristina walks with me to stand a few feet away from the car; I'm sure the firefighters need room to work, but I need to stay close in case Monica needs me. I notice the front of Cristina's scrubs are blood-stained. "Did your patient make it?" I point to her scrubs.

"No."

"I'm sorry."

Cristina shakes her head. "We have other people to worry about. What's going on this this woman?"

"She has chest pain, but can't feel any other injuries. She's having trouble breathing."

"Pneumothorax?"

"I think so, but she's still breathing. I'm keeping my eye on her lung function."

"I can do that," Cristina offers.

I look over at the car. "No. I'll stay."

Cristina doesn't fight me on it and we both stay.

 **DEREK**

After an hour, we leave the Situation Room and I go back to the Oval to call Meredith because I can't wait any longer. Her phone just rings and rings, which normally wouldn't worry me—and shouldn't worry me—but I'm worried nonetheless. I call the hospital, which I know is dramatic, but I just want to be sure she's okay. When the line is picked up, the scene in the background sounds chaotic.

"Georgetown University Hospital. We're currently closed to any traumas. How can I help you?"

"May I please speak to Doctor Grey."

She can't hear me. "Who?"

"Meredith Grey," I practically shout.

I'm standing by the windows overlooking the lawn and everything looks the same. It's daytime, so the lights have little affect from where I'm standing, but I know the downed plane passengers and the people stuck beneath cars in the middle of the street would disagree.

The receptionist has covered the phone and I can still hear people yelling and crying in the background. She comes back and says, "Doctor Grey is in the field. May I ask who's calling?"

"What does 'in the field' mean?"

"She's on the sight of a trauma. Who is this?" she asks again.

I know I shouldn't, but I say, "This is President Shepherd. Can you please tell me _exactly_ where my girlfriend is?"

All I can think is: what if this is an actual attack? What if someone is about to swoop in and bomb us at any moment? If that's what's about to happen, I want to make sure Meredith is somewhere safe.

"She's at a car pileup near Dupont Circle—18th and R."

"Thank you."

 **MEREDITH**

The firefighters work quickly to extract Monica. Her breathing becomes more labored and Cristina and I swoop in to make sure she's going okay. As the firefighters lift the dashboard, I finally see the blood and her pallor completely changes. I start yelling for them to stop.

I crouch next to Monica; her mouth is full of fresh blood. "I'm dying," she cries.

"No. You aren't dying."

"Meredith…" Cristina says, clearly unsure.

"No! You won't die."

"So what are you going to do?"

 **DEREK**

For a moment I am crazy. I imagine driving with the motorcade down to the scene of the accident and asking for Meredith to go somewhere safe. No, demanding she go somewhere safe. It's all planned out. It'll take a few moments and then I can focus again.

But then I start thinking rationally. I can't just show up because: 1) Meredith is working to save lives and 2) I can't just show up anywhere without causing a scene. I have no idea what damage I might cause by just showing up. There could be even more chaos, which could put people in danger. I won't stop worrying, but I do remind myself that Meredith is an adult and she's an incredible surgeon, and she does not need me saving her.

She's fine.

 **MEREDITH**

I am inside the car despite the five minute disagreement from Cristina. Her argument went something like: "You can't be serious, Meredith. That's dangerous. The car could set on fire. Something could move weird and your arm could be cut off. You're not getting in that car."

And my argument goes something like…I actually didn't argue with her. I just climbed into the car.

I press my hands to Monica's now very obvious injury. I can tell she's slipping. "It'll all be over in a minute," I say, not realizing that makes it sound like she's dying. "They'll pull you from the car and I'll keep your wound closed. We already have an OR waiting for you."

"I'm cold," she says.

"Just hold on. You want to meet Derek, don't you?"

She tries to smile. "You call him Derek," she says.

"In the beginning, he hated that I always called him Mr. President. He always told me to call him Derek."

"Is he a good guy?" she asks.

I nod. "The very best."

"Okay, we're going to get started," one of the firefighters calls.

"Just hold on, Monica."

 **DEREK**

My team has reconvened in the Situation Room. They're sure the blackout has nothing to do with terror, but really was a failed alarm system. The alarm went off about fifteen minutes before the power outage and when it wasn't rectified, the power grid went down, affecting any other plant connected to the grid. Alec, my speechwriter, is dictating what I plan to say, with the help of my team, when a call from my Press Secretary comes through.

"Sir, the power is back on," Lily says.

We've all become so used to the backup power in the Situation Room, that we hadn't even realized the power was back. My team breaks and Alan and I head upstairs to the Oval. I turn on the TV and sure enough, news anchors are gathering and the ticker at the bottom says the power has returned along the eastern sea board after over two hours being cut.

"So, that's it?" Alan asks.

I turn to him. "Guess so."

"So what now, Sir?"

"Let's have Alec work on a new speech. Something quick. And then I need a car."

 **Four Hours Later**

 **MEREDITH**

I am going to spend the night at Monica's bedside, so I ask a nurse to bring in one of the more comfortable bedside chairs. I've called Monica's family and they're on their way. All day they had no idea where she was, so they're relieved she's alive. I want her to stay alive, so I plan to sit up all night and monitor her. She's the last one alive from the car wreck and she has to live.

The power has been back on for hours now, but the damage was far bigger than anyone could've guessed for the power being out for just two hours. Last I heard two dozen people are dead, which includes the plane crash. The conspiracy theories are already brewing. People are claiming there's something more going on here. The very same thing happened back in 2003 and maybe some cyberattack was testing to see our response. People are claiming the power will go down again, but it won't be so quick to come back on if it comes back on at all.

Cristina stopped in before heading home to tell me Derek delivered a quick speech about the blackout and that they're still looking into every possibility, but the White House is sure that the error was a human one by not fixing the alarm fast enough. And before she left, Cristina said, "I believe Chernobyl was also a human error and we saw what happened there."

I'm sure I rolled my eyes and then she was gone.

A nurse arrives with a chair and I arrange it next to Monica's bed. I'm gathering my charts to review when I see someone enter the doorway in my peripheral vision.

 **DEREK**

"Hi," I say quietly as I walk into the patient's room. Meredith looks as tired as I feel.

She was hovering over the seat to sit down, but is now standing with binders in her arms. "Hey."

"Is she okay?"

Meredith looks over at her patient. "For now, yes. She, uh…" Meredith sets down her binders and stares at the woman in the bed as she talks. "She has some severe injuries. Her pelvis was crushed in a car accident and she had a collapsed lung. She had internal bleeding, which I fixed, but, I don't know. I've seen people survive worse, but the whole thing is pretty traumatic on anyone's body." She looks over at me. "I'm spending the night so I can keep an eye on her."

I nod, deciding not to walk further into the room so I don't disturb her healing. "Do you have a minute to talk? I understand if this is more important, but—"

"Yeah, let me just grab a nurse."

Meredith walks past me and grabs my upper arm to scoot past me. "Hi Grant, Toby," she says to my agents and she walks over to the nurse's station. A moment later, a kind-looking woman follows Meredith into the room and sits down beside the bed. "Thanks Carol," she says and walks out the door. "Come on," she says and I follow Meredith down the hallway and into a small room with a few beds. Grant and Toby wait outside.

I look around the small room. "Will you sleep here?"

"Uh, no. I'm going to sleep in Monica's room. The patient's room," she clarifies.

I slide my hands into my pockets. I wish I wasn't still wearing my suit and I wish this didn't feel so awkward, but after our fight last night, it's bound to be awkward. I decide to tell her something that might make me seem charming. "I went a little crazy today. You weren't answering your phone, so I called the hospital to make sure you were safe. When the receptionist told me you were out in the field, I wanted to drive there and…I don't know what I wanted to do. I just wanted to be sure you were safe." As I say the words, I realize I don't sound charming at all. "Now I feel like a stalker."

Meredith smiles at that. "You've always been a bit of a stalker."

"So you find it charming?"

"Not so much," she says with another grin.

There are feet of physical distance between us, which doesn't bother me so much as the emotional distance. "For just a second, can you forget that you're mad at me and can I just hold you? It's been a long day."

Meredith doesn't deny she's mad at me, but regardless, she walks towards me and right into my arms.

I lean down and kiss the top of her head, smelling some kind of flower in her hair, and feel her squeeze my abdomen tightly. I don't have to ask how her day was; based on how beat up the woman in the hospital bed across the hallway is, I know Meredith's had a tough day. I know she's had a tough few months and despite everything, she's still standing here. I love her more right now than even a few seconds ago.

We both pull back simultaneously, but we're still locked in each other's arms. Meredith kisses me first and I gladly reciprocate. I want her in every way, just like I always want her, but we have to talk, so I reluctantly pull away.

Meredith doesn't seem surprised. She sits down on one of the beds and pats the spot next to her. I sit down, feeling like we're on an even playing field.

I'm the first to speak. "You lied when you said you weren't mad."

"Yes." She doesn't hesitate.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Are you telling me you didn't realize I was mad?" She fights back.

I don't want to fight, so I say, "I thought you might be, but you didn't say anything. When I've done something wrong, you have to tell me."

I expect another Meredith Grey patented response, but instead she says, "I'm new at all of this. I've been alone for a long time and I'm good at it. I'm not good at this." She motions between us.

"Well, you've been pretty good at it so far."

"I was mad. I _am_ mad. I know what I signed up for when we decided to date, but the one person I have on my side is you." She looks up at me. "I have to be able to trust you or this won't work. So when private photos, no matter how innocuous they may be, are released and I have to see them on the news, that's not acceptable. You've known from the beginning I want my privacy and releasing those photos seems like a bigger invasion of my privacy than some news anchor I don't know calling me a bad doctor."

"You're not a bad doctor," I say to comfort her, but also because it's true.

Meredith shakes her head. "But I am!" I can tell she's getting angrier by the moment. "Do you know what Richard told me yesterday morning?" I shake my head no. "He told me I've taken all my days off for the year in a matter of months. And what's worse, I have patients asking for other doctors because my schedule is so unpredictable."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because you have all these plans. Dinners and trips and obligations that I can no longer attend."

"But you hate the dinners," I say, trying to add some levity.

Meredith sighs. "I don't _hate_ the dinners. I hate that the only time we really spend together is in conjunction with a dinner."

I hate to admit that she's right. "I'm trying, Meredith, but there's so much on my plate."

She takes my hand. "I get that. I really do. But I think you forget, and I allowed you to forget, that I have a lot on my plate too and I can no longer drop everything for one of your dinners or some trip away. We have to both meet in the middle."

"How?"

"I haven't figured that part out yet, but I do know my patients are important, Derek. I love you, but I also love my job and I've worked really hard to be here."

"I know you have."

Meredith looks away from me and stares at the wall. I can tell she's thinking hard. "I pulled that woman out of her car today. She was going to bleed to death and die and I saved her." Meredith looks back at me. "I saved you. I have to be around to do my job."

I nod and cup her cheek. I love the fire in her eyes right now. "I want nothing more than to give you the time to do your job." I shake my head. "I think I've been doing this all wrong. I make you come to the White House and have someone pick out a dress for you and I love having you around, but you're right. We never have time alone."

"I'm not asking for a lot of time, but I am asking for private time. And not just to have sex." She grins at me and I grin back.

"Although that's very important."

She kisses me, " _Very_ ," she says against my lips.

I pull away again. "You are the strongest person I know. When others run, you stay. You take on these impossible tasks and you're so selfless. I don't want to take any part of you for granted. I want to be someone you can lean on, just as you've become someone I lean on." I squeeze Meredith's hand. "From now on, no photos will be released without your approval. And we'll make more time for us. We'll go on dates."

"What about the paparazzi selling photos of us on dates? Won't the news people have a field day?"

"I don't care," I say with a shrug. "If we're going to give this a real shot, we need to at least be in the same room as just normal people. That way I know you aren't with me for the power."

"Are you kidding? I'm with you for the catered food. You know I can't cook."

I laugh. "I love you so much."

"I love you," Meredith says and kisses me once more. When she pulls away, she asks, "So how awful was your day?"

"Pretty damn awful, but I did realize a few things."

"What are those?"

"Well, you still have time off for Christmas, right?"

She nods. "Those are my last days off. Why?"

"How does a cabin in Montana for just the two of us sound? Four nights, five days, there's a hot tub and I'll cook. There's this incredible fireplace and the bed is amazing. I used to go to this same place every winter, but I haven't been there in years. We'll spend the whole time together. No one else. Not even Grant or Toby."

Meredith raises her eyebrows. "Really?"

"Okay, they'll be _nearby_."

"That's what I thought."

"Well?" I ask.

Meredith nods. She has this beautiful look on her face right now which makes me want to kiss her all over. "I'd like that."

"Good. I've also been thinking about your housing situation."

"Ignore what I said yesterday. I know why you chose that place for me. I totally understand and it's fine, honestly. It probably won't be for that much longer anyway because once we're—" She stops herself and goes red. "What I mean to say is—"

"I know what you're saying," I interrupt. I can't help but feel elated that she's thinking about the future. "And I agree. But I disagree that the house is fine. It's not fine. I was trying to keep you safe, and I do want to keep you safe, but you also need to be happy."

"So what does that mean?"

"I spoke to Alex about an hour ago. He says there's no paparazzi hanging around anymore and I had Toby check it out and he agrees."

Meredith smiles. "So what does that mean?" she repeats.

"It means we're going to have to set up some security measures, but a few staff members are currently boxing up your stuff and tomorrow, once your patient makes it—because she will—you'll head home. _Home_ , home, not Pennsylvania Avenue."

Meredith throws her arms around my neck and kisses right below my ear. "Thank you."

She's never hugged me so tightly. "You're welcome. I just like to see you happy."

Meredith pulls back to kiss me. "I am happy. Thank you."

"Well, I—"

The door opens and the nurse who was watching Meredith's patient is standing there. "Doctor Grey, we need you."

 **MEREDITH**

I rush into Monica's room with Derek on my heels and all I can imagine is she's died. I imagine her lips blue and her heartrate monitor flat lining. I tell family members all the time that their mothers or fathers or daughters are dead, but it never gets easier and I don't want to tell Monica's family. I want her to be alive because she deserves to live.

As I run into the room, the heartrate monitor isn't flat lining. She has a regular heartbeat and as I look down, I see Monica's eyes open. She blinks slowly at me, as if she's in pain, but I see gratitude there. She's hurt and in pain, but she's going to live.

Monica's gaze turns to Derek and her eyes go wide. Derek glances at me.

I walk to Monica's bedside and grab a sterile cloth. I lay the cloth on Monica's chest and untape the breathing tube tape from her face. "I'm going to remove the tube that's helping you breathe. We'll have oxygen on standby, but this might make it easier for you to say hello to the President."

Monica nods and looks back at Derek. He looks down at her with warm eyes.

I slowly and easily remove Monica's tube and wrap it inside the towel, handing it off to nurse Carol. I hand Monica some water, which she drinks slowly, and then she clears her throat.

"I promised you, didn't I?"

She nods and says, "Yes," which sounds a little broken. She clears her throat again.

"I promised Monica she could meet you," I tell Derek.

Derek reaches down and takes Monica's hand. "It's great to meet you. I hear you were a model patient today. Very brave."

Monica shakes Derek's hand. "I have a pretty kickass doctor."

Derek glances over at me. Right now he's not just my boyfriend and not just the President, but he's someone people look up to. Someone who plans to make the world we live in better and after a trying day, that's what people need.

But as I look over at Derek, I realize he might think the same about me. I never stop to think about how our jobs are similar on so many levels. We're here to make lives better. To improve circumstances. We're here to help people.

Derek smiles at me and turns back to Monica. "You really do have a kickass doctor. She's incredible."

I can't help but think Derek is also pretty incredible.

* * *

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	28. Home

**AN: I cannot believe how many new followers/subscribers/whatever you want to be called found this story this week! Thank you to anyone who follows this story and especially to those who comment. All your comments have been incredible and I can't wait to share the new few chapters with you all.**

 **Enjoy!**

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I have four missed called from Richard and two from Derek when I leave my last surgery of the day. The ones from Derek don't worry me because I know I've been flaky with the details for tonight, but the ones from Richard worry me a lot. I call him back immediately.

In the two-ish months since Richard retired and Bailey took over, Richard has been spending his days monitoring my mother, which in the beginning was easy. Most days and most hours, she was Ellis. But time hasn't been kind to her disease. The last few weeks have been especially tough. There were five whole days there where my mom wasn't herself. She didn't even remember Richard. Of course I'm never made aware of her episodes until after they pass, which on some level I appreciate, but I also need to face the reality of the situation. I have very little time left with my mother.

So when Richard offered to throw a big Thanksgiving dinner, I immediately loved the idea. Richard told me to invite my friends, and Derek, so I did just that. I was a little worried about my mom's episodes and if she would be herself, but she's been coherent the last few days, so I'm hopeful. In any case, I warned everyone that should my mom lose herself, they should feel free to just leave.

Richard answers my call on the third ring. "Meredith, great," he sounds relieved, but not panicked.

"Is everything okay?"

"Yes, of course." He pauses. "Oh, you thought…your mom," he says. "She's perfectly fine. She's drinking wine and not helping me cook."

"You told me many years ago I'm no good in the kitchen and to just sit down and drink some wine. I've been very good at that for three decades now," I hear my mom say in the background.

"Yes dear," he says warmly.

As much as I love to hear this moment, I do have a lot to do before I show up for dinner. Mainly wrangling all my friends and Derek. "Is there something you needed?"

"Yes, right. Could you pick up more stuffing? I realized I only purchased enough for inside the bird, but not for a side. I'm told it's imperative that we have stuffing."

I think about the grocery store the day before Thanksgiving and my stomach turns. I want nothing less than to go and buy stuffing, but I say, "Sure. How much?"

After I figure out the stuffing situation, I send a mass text to Cristina, Alex, Callie, Arizona, Bailey, Jackson, and April, reminding them all where and when to show up. I get two texts back, one from Alex and the other from Cristina asking: _But isn't tomorrow Thanksgiving?_ I want to bash my head on the wall. I step onto the elevator and find Alex leaning against the railing at the back.

I hold up my phone. "Seriously? How can my best friends not figure this out?"

Alex shrugs. "It's weird that we're doing this tonight."

"We have a big dinner at the White House tomorrow, you know that. And what do you care? It's free food."

"That's true."

We stop one floor below and Cristina steps on. "Hey, why are we doing this thing tonight?"

" _Thanksgiving_ ," I give her the word.

"No, tonight is dinner. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving."

I roll my eyes to Pluto and back. I turn to my friends. "First, you know why. Second, as I just told Alex, it's free good and it's good food. And third, what the hell do you care about Thanksgiving? Neither of you have ever celebrated Thanksgiving in the almost decade I've known you. So show up with a bottle of wine, make sure you're hungry, and don't be late!"

The elevator reaches the ground floor. I stomp out first.

"Jeez, she's so testy," Alex says loud enough for me to hear.

"I thought this was free? We have to bring wine?"

"I'll bring beer," Alex says.

"A full six pack," I call over my shoulder. "None of that, _I got thirsty_ and drinking two at home first!"

"You're cracked," Alex calls after me.

I wave above my head as I walk down the hallway to Toby's waiting car. "See you in two hours!"

As soon as I get into the car, I start bitching about the stuffing and Toby, my knight in shining armor, makes a call. "We need more stuffing for Doctor Grey's Thanksgiving tonight," he says into his hands-free headset as we pull out of the underground garage. "Can you make sure some is delivered to Richard Webber's house in the next hour?"

I stare at Toby, absolutely amazed.

"Perfect. I'll have Doctor Grey tell them. Thank you." He ends the call. "All set."

"Who was that?" I ask.

"Our new intern. Well, Sophie's intern, but she lends him to us. He'll drop the stuffing off as soon as he picks it up. Just text me what you need and I'll send him the address."

"Done and done," I say as I shoot a quick text to Toby. "You're a miracle worker."

Toby just grins at me in the mirror.

We pull up to the White House and immediately are both waved in. I flash my very new, very fancy access badge, which despite the fact that I don't need it with Frankie, the guard on duty, I show it anyway. Derek was very cute when he gave it to me. He had it in a box like an engagement ring. I have to admit, I was glad it wasn't a ring because I think I would've panicked.

Derek said, "You're here all the time anyway. It'll make it easier than writing a temporary pass each time."

"Very romantic," I teased him.

"I think it is," he said and then kissed me fiercely. I have to say, we didn't do much talking after that.

Toby parks the car and gets the door for me. We both walk inside to the elevator and while Toby gets off on the first floor, I take it to the second and walk towards the Oval. Sophie is on the phone when I enter the lobby, but she waves me in and nods when I point to the door. I knock first and then slip into the room.

Derek is sitting behind his big desk looking pretty relaxed considering the big dinner he's hosting tomorrow night. I know Derek doesn't mind the big parties, but the hosting does stress him out sometimes. He looks up at me from over the papers he's reviewing and grins. "Hello," he says warmly and it reminds me of Richard saying "yes dear" to my mom earlier. Not in a creepy way, but in an _I love you_ sort of way.

"Hi."

He stands and walks around his desk toward me. I haven't been in the Oval in a long time. Maybe not since the summer.

Derek wraps his arms around my waist. "You look good."

"You saw me this morning," I say as I wrap my arms around his the back of his neck.

"Yes, but you look good. Maybe better now." He kisses my collarbone.

"Are you saying I looked like crap this morning?" I ask and my voice sounds more breathless than I had planned, but it doesn't help that Derek is slowly licking along my collarbones.

He laughs against my skin. "No, I'm not saying that." He pulls away from me and pushes a stray hair from my field of vision. "I think it's surgery. It gives you a glow."

"That is the sexiest thing you've ever said."

Derek breaks into an even wider grin. "Let's see what else I can drum up to get you all hot and bothered." His hands slide down over my hips and across my butt. His one hand slides dangerously low, almost between my legs from the back.

"We can't get hot and bothered right now."

Derek kisses below my earlobe. "Why not?" he whispers into my ear.

"We have dinner."

"Not for hours."

"I said we'd be early."

His one hand stays on the lower part of my butt and his other slides around to the front, lifting just a few inches of my sweater, and splaying his fingers against my stomach. His two fingers begin to slide very, _very_ slowly into the waistband of my jeans.

Derek kisses along my neck. "We have plenty of time."

I look up to the eye in the sky. "There are cameras," I whisper.

Derek looks up as well. "There are blind spots," he says back and he begins walking me backwards until my back hits the wall. He doesn't push me hard at all, but regardless, I'm breathless by the time we hit the wall. Derek's mouth locks on mine and we begin kissing furiously as he full-on slides his hands into my pants. Derek uses his free left hand and hitches my right leg up against his hip and I am more than obliging because the feeling on his fingers sliding inside me sends me closer to nirvana.

I cup Derek's cheeks as we kiss, delving my tongue into his mouth and feeling him reciprocate. We're flush against each other, as close as possible with our clothes still on and I know any moment someone could walk into the room, which is why I suddenly feel shy and I pull at his wrist, breaking our kiss. "We can't. Not here."

Derek is just as breathless as I. "No one will walk in." He kisses me again.

"They might," I say against his lips.

"They—"

The phone rings. "Mr. President?" It's Sophie.

He sighs and says, "Yes?"

"I have Ambassador Sterling on the phone for you."

"Alright. Give me a moment."

"Yes sir."

The phone goes quiet. "I have to take this."

"Okay."

"But I'm not done with you yet."

I grin. "Okay."

"But if you stay any longer in this room, I'll explode."

I give him a quick kiss. "Take your call and I'll meet you by the car."

"It'll be ten minutes, tops."

"See you in ten."

About a half hour later, Derek, very apologetically, meets me by the car. Toby gets behind the wheel and Grant takes the passenger seat while Derek holds the back door open for me. We climb in the back and he tells me the basics of his day so we have something to talk about besides all the sex we're both imagining right now. Derek holds my hand and we share a look, like we have a big secret. I don't think it's much of a secret.

When we reach my parents' house, the four of us head inside. Since both Toby and Grant are working today, we offered for them to join us and while Toby was very excited to say yes, Grant agreed, but was his characteristic reserved self.

I don't ring the bell because I never do; instead I march right in and exclaim, "We're here!"

Richard and my mom appear in the kitchen doorway. "Welcome!" Richard says while holding up a turkey baster.

I give him a look. "If Alex were here, he'd have so many comments."

"What?" Richard asks.

"Nothing." I give him a hug. "Something smells good."

"Derek, good to see you," my mom says and they share a hug.

"You too, Doctor Grey."

As they pull away, my mom says, "If I'm going to be calling you Derek, you'll call me Ellis."

"Of course, Ellis," he says pointedly. He shakes Richard's hand. "How's retirement, Richard?"

I wonder if it's a hard question for my stepfather since his retirement wasn't so much his dream, but more of a necessity, but if it makes him feel badly, he doesn't say anything negative. "It's amazing. I have a garden."

"A garden?" I ask.

"Yes. Let me show you!"

He's so excited. "Okay. But first, you remember Grant and Toby, right?"

My mom shakes both their hands. "Of course. You keep everyone safe."

Grant might be blushing, but he hides it well. "It's our job, ma'am."

"Oh god, you're all so polite. No more ma'ams or doctors in this house. Everyone will call me Ellis tonight. Call me my name while I still remember it," she says with a laugh. I glance at Richard. "Let's get something to drink before we head outside to that dying garden."

"It's not dying," Richard calls after her. Derek, Grant, and Toby follow my mom into the kitchen. Richard hangs back with me. "It's her new thing."

"Joking about forgetting?"

He nods. "The doctor says it's a coping mechanism."

"How often does it happen?" I ask.

Richard shrugs. "Hourly, at least."

I don't know why, but distasteful jokes from my mom _about_ my mom's condition make me feel uncomfortable. I can tell Richard is also uncomfortable, but I want to try to ease some of that, so I just smile and shrug. "My mom has always been off her rocker."

Richard nods. "You're right about that."

Speak of the devil, my mom appears in the kitchen doorway. "Wine, Meredith?"

"Yes. Red, please."

"I'm breaking open a fancy bottle. Gotta drink them while I'm still kicking," she says before disappearing into the kitchen again.

"I am going to need to drink a lot."

Richard holds up his glass of water. "Please, drink some for me."

Cristina and Alex show up about an hour later and Callie rolls in about fifteen minutes after that. Arizona is stuck at the hospital. Bailey calls and says she'll be late and I hear nothing from Jackson and April, but I'm assuming they're busy as well. Everyone greets Derek like it's normal to have him around, which I appreciate. It feels like forever ago that Alex was excited to meet Derek, back when he was just the President I operated on.

However, while everyone might be cool with Derek, they're weird around Grant and Toby. Cristina is being the weirdest. We're walking into the dining room, carrying our wine glasses to put at the table, when she says, "Do you think they bugged the house?"

I set my glass down. "Who?"

"The agents," she says 'agents' like it's a dirty word.

"They're not NSA. They're just…bodyguards, basically."

"They're Secret Service. They're like a government army."

"No, _the_ army is the government army. Their job is to keep Derek safe."

"So why are they here?"

"Because they have to work today and they're away from their families. I wasn't going to let them just sit out in the car or stand by a door while we all eat. This way, they can keep an eye on Derek and me, and they can eat delicious food."

Cristina gives me a look.

"What?" I ask.

"You're like…a First Lady."

"I am not!"

"You are." She begins to walk away from me.

"Take it back," I say as I follow her towards the kitchen.

Cristina turns to me and walks very slowly backwards. "I can see you now, picking out china patterns and planning big parties."

"You're evil."

She smirks at me. "You know I'm right," she says walking into the kitchen.

Derek is standing right by the door. "Right about what?" he asks, while casually sliding his arm around my waist. I look up at him and he's smiling. Not his Presidential smile, his Derek smile.

"Nothing," I insist.

"Meredith, can you come grab this?" my mom asks, effectively drawing me from the conversation.

"Duty calls," I tell him, give him a quick peck and walk towards my mom. I give Cristina a look before grabbing the big bowl of mashed potatoes and heading to the table.

As everyone gathers in the dining room, Richard holds court at the head of the table and holds up his water glass, gently striking it with his fork. Everyone quiets down. The room is warm and cozy with the fire blazing in the fireplace behind Richard and my mom has put on classical music in the background. I think back to last Thanksgiving, which I worked through, same as the one before and the one before that. It's been a long time that I've gathered with my family for Thanksgiving and I've never gathered with my friends for almost any holiday, unless we were working. I've also never had a boyfriend at the table with me, so when Derek's hand slides in mine, he feels like my anchor.

"I want to propose a toast. This year has been trying and not just professionally, but personally as well." He glances at my mother and she remains stoic. "But we're all here today and some of us are here because of the help of others." Derek squeezes my hand and I lean a little into him. "It's with support and family that we're all standing here about to enjoy this meal, so I just want to say thank you to all of you and I hope we'll all be able to gather next year." He holds up his glass.

"Here here," Derek says and everyone clinks their glasses before taking a sip.

"Enough of that mushy stuff," my mom says and smiles at Richard. "Let's eat."

I'm sitting between Derek and Grant with Toby across the table next to Callie and Alex, both of whom are less paranoid than Cristina. Callie is asking a million questions about his job. "So if someone were to shoot at the car with Meredith in it, what do you do?"

Toby is polite and actually seems happy to talk about what he can. Although, he can't talk about much. "We can't release the plan, in case someone tries to thwart us."

"But there's a plan in place?"

"There's always a plan," Toby says.

I expected Grant to be pretty reserved, but he's opening up to Bailey and Richard, both who are sitting to his right. "I was taking a job to help a friend," he says while passing a bowl of green bean casserole. "I knew I could do it, and I knew I liked the idea of being in DC, but there were a lot of factors to consider. One, and probably the heaviest on my mind, is that in four or eight years, I'll no longer have a job."

"But you're the Chief of the _President's_ Secret Service," Bailey says. "That's like being…the Chief of Surgery," she says with pride.

"Let me guess, that's you," he says with a smile.

Bailey nods and seems a little sheepish when she says, "Yes, that's me."

"And a damn fine Chief, I've been told," Richard says.

Bailey beams even brighter.

I don't talk much during dinner, mostly because eating is something I'm really great at, but also because I like watching my two worlds collide. Derek and my mom are having heated political debates, which honestly has nothing to do with Derek being in politics. My mom discusses politics at seemingly every single dinner we throw. Cristina keeps jumping in to test Derek's theories, but Derek's holding his own. I like listening to the conversation, but I have no interest in adding anything.

As dinner wraps up, I go back into the kitchen to grab a glass of water for me and another bottle of wine for the table. Since Derek and I have to be pretty good tomorrow at dinner, we're both allowing ourselves to drink more than normal tonight. I do need some water though because the hangover tomorrow will kill me if I don't even out the booze.

"Everything seems to be going well," my mom says as she walks into the kitchen.

I turn to look at her and watch as she walks to the other side of the island. "Yeah, the food is great."

She pours herself some wine. "I meant with you and Derek."

"Oh. Well, yeah. Things are good."

"Do you think he's 'the one'?" she asks.

I stare at my mom in disbelief. "Since when do you believe in 'the one'?"

"I don't, but I suspect Derek does."

I lean against the kitchen island with my elbows resting on the countertop. "He does. He hasn't said it to me, but I think he believes in that. He's a romantic. Magic and fairytale endings."

"And you're practical."

"I am, but…" I don't know how to say the next part without sounding like just some girl in love. I am in love, but it just sounds so average when I talk about it. I'm an extraordinary surgeon; I shouldn't lower myself to just someone in love.

My mom walks over to me and leans her hip against the island. "When I met Richard, my only focus in the entire world was to be the very best surgeon in the world." I stand up straight, as if it'll make me listen better. "Just like you, when I fell in love and in the beginning, I thought maybe he'd hold me back. Not intentionally, because the best part about Richard is his support of my work. The thing is, Meredith, you need to find a partner who supports everything you do and I think you have. So even if you were once fully practical and now you lean a bit more towards the romantic, fairytale person Derek is…" she shrugs, "I don't think that makes you any less of a good doctor. If anything, it'll probably make you more compassionate to your patients."

"Who are you and what have you done with my mother?"

She laughs and says, "I don't have a lot of time and I want to make sure I've given you everything I can before I go."

"You're not dying tomorrow, Mom."

"Probably not, but I might not be me tomorrow anyway."

"You will. I believe you will."

She smiles at me. "And I believe that's the romantic in you talking." She throws her arm around my shoulder. "Come on, let's get back to the table. I'm practically dragging our President through the mud and I love it."

"You're vicious."

My mom nods, "I always have been."

After dinner and after all the guests leave and after I've helped clean up, I say goodnight to Richard and my mom and Derek and I drive to my house. He needs to get back to the White House, but I'm feeling selfish with time, so I ask if he'd sit on the porch with me for a while. Toby remains in the car while Grant stands outside, just keeping an eye out. Derek follows me up onto the porch and we take a seat on the porch swing. The bushes in front of the house give us some privacy.

It's cold out, so I stay close to Derek. He wraps his arm around my shoulder. We swing slowly. "Dinner was fun," he says. "And really good."

"It was good, wasn't it? I don't think Richard was much of a cook during his first marriage because his wife did all that. My mom is as useless in the kitchen as I am. He had to learn to feed them both."

"No man starts a relationship with a Grey woman expecting to be fed."

"We should put that on a t-shirt."

"I'll get working on that."

I pull my legs up onto the swing, pulling them to my chest. "My mom and I talked in the kitchen after dinner."

"Yeah? What about?"

"You and me. She agrees that you believe in magic and fairytales." I smile into his jacket.

Derek laughs. "You're making me sound crazy. We're not talking _Cinderella_ or _Snow White_. I just believe people can have a happy ending."

"My mom isn't getting a happy ending."

He's quiet for a second before saying, "No, she's not. My mom didn't have a happy ending with my dad either."

"Maybe it's not about the happy ending. Maybe it's the time leading up to the ending that's more important."

Derek makes a sound like that of an agreement. He slides his hand up and down my arm. "You're smart," he says against my ear. My eyes feel heavy from all the food and the long day. I wish he could stay. "How do you think our journey is going right now?"

I lean my head back to look up at him. "Pretty good, I'd say."

"Me too."

Derek stays for only fifteen minutes more. He has to get back and I will be seeing him tomorrow, so I don't feel too bad about letting him go. We kiss on my porch for a minute before finally breaking away. He keeps my hand in his, walking backwards, until he's too far and my hand falls to my side. "Goodnight," he says with a playful grin.

"'Night."

I watch as he climbs in the back of his car and heads out.

A second later the front door opens and Alex is standing there. "Are you done?"

I give him a look. "What? Do you need me to read you a bedtime story?"

He scrunches up his face. "You two are nauseating."

"Oh Alex, you're so sweet." I pat his cheek as I walk past him.

"You really should get a room," he calls after me.

"Together we have many rooms."

"Whatever," he says.

"Goodnight Alex!" I call as I walk up the stairs.

From the top step I hear him say, "Goodnight." It's been two months since returning, but I can't help but think every night when I go to bed, it's good to be home.

* * *

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	29. Yes, Part 2

**AN: I had writer's block. I'm fine; baby is fine. But I had writer's block. I knew what I wanted to say, but not how and to be honest, I'm still not sure this is how. But I wanted to have something up for you because _so_ many of you sent concerned reviews and messages. I appreciate it so much. THANK YOU! In the future, if I'm late in posting, I'll put something my profile page. I don't want you to worry. **

**Even if I'm not happy with this update, I hope you are. I love you all and all the messages and reviews. You're the absolute best.**

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Derek tells me about the time he spent in Montana with his family when he was younger as we drive to the cabin. "It was my dad's place," he tells me, his hand rested on my knee. His eyes are glued to the landscape out the window as we drove across snow-packed roads. Neither Grant nor Toby are driving; Derek hired a local guy who's used to the weather. He drives with ease while I try not to freak out about us driving off a cliff into a ravine.

"He loved fishing and hunting and he always wanted to retire to Montana."

"What did your mom think about that?" I ask.

Derek turns to me smiling. "She wasn't going to let it happen."

"Smart woman," I tell him.

For the next ten or so minutes, Derek tells me about waking up on Christmas morning when he was young and running down the stairs of their cabin to the vaulted, two-story living room with a fifteen foot Christmas tree and ripping open his gifts. The five kids would tear through the presents while his parents would happily watch, acting surprised with each Santa gift. The way he explains it sounds idyllic. I've never had a white winter and I've never really wanted to spend Christmas in a cabin in front of a fire, but hearing the joy in Derek's voice makes me think this might be my best Christmas.

When he started planning this trip, Derek had wanted to rent the cabin he spent time in as a kid. He made some calls, even using his President card, but the cabin is now privately owned and the owner's wouldn't budge, even when Derek offered to pay for them to go on a trip to anywhere in the world. I know he was disappointed, but to be honest that cabin would be too big for us—two-stories, seven bedrooms, two kitchens. We don't need all that space, so the two bedroom he decided on will be perfect.

We wind through the mountains and the view is truly beautiful. Everything is pristinely white and the sky is grey with heavy clouds, promising more snow tonight. We haven't passed an exit in forever and I haven't seen another car since we began climbing in altitude. Derek's hand slides up my leg and back down. He's practically bouncing. "We're almost there," he says.

As true as his word, within ten minutes we're five miles from the highway and pulling into a long driveway. I notice the area isn't gated or protected like Camp David was or like Derek's home in Maine, but honestly, I don't see how anyone _could_ find us here.

After another mile or so, a wide, bright blue lake appears on the horizon and snuggled up to its shores are two cabins, both the same size with about five hundred meters between them. Both chimneys have rolling white smoke billowing out. Derek points to the one on the left, "That's for Grant and Toby," he tells me.

When I was waiting in the car for Derek, I asked Toby and Grant if they were going to miss their families over Christmas. Grant was the first one to tell me, "Actually, our significant others will be there waiting for us."

"Really?"

Toby smiled in the rearview mirror. "My girlfriend and Grant's wife. They know we have work to do, but the President believed we shouldn't spend our Christmases away from our girls."

I noticed the corner of Grant's mouth turn up.

"That President can be a romantic."

Neither said anything, but I can tell by the look I shared with Grant in the rearview mirror that he agreed.

Derek sits forward in his seat as we approach, probably to drink it all in. His hand squeezes my thigh. "It looks exactly like the pictures."

"It's beautiful," I tell him.

"You think?" Derek asks, turning his attention back to me.

"Of course."

"I know it's not your type of vacation, but—"

"We have six uninterrupted days together. You could drag me to the moon and I'd be happy."

Derek leans in and kisses me briefly, probably very aware of his agents sitting in the front seat. He grins as he pulls away. The car comes to a stop and Derek is the first to reach for his door handle.

After many thanks to the driver and a thorough sweep from Grant while Toby keeps guard, it's determined we can go inside and enjoy our week. Derek hands over his work phone to Grant, who will be keeping it for the next six days. I also hand over my work phone, which I doubt will ring. There's not much I can do from two-thousand miles away. We say a goodbye to Grant and Toby, who gladly head toward their cabin, where their significant others are waiting.

Derek takes my hand and we walk into our cabin.

The cabin is exactly what I pictured it being: cozy, but lavish. The main room is made up of the living and dining spaces, plus a gourmet kitchen. There's already a fire blazing in the fireplace, which is perfect since I'm already freezing cold. The furniture is probably more expensive than my house, but has a lived-in look—something probably achieved in a factory. To the right of the living room is a small hallway with a bedroom and bathroom. To the left is the master bedroom, which has the bed facing the lake, which is framed by two large plate-glass sliding doors. There's a large bathroom, also with a view of the lake, and a bathtub which has the most perfect view.

I run my hand along the edge of the tub, which is lined with bath bombs, calming salts, and candles.

Derek walks up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist, sliding is warm palms underneath my jacket and sweater to touch my stomach. "A bath might be nice," he says into my ear.

I lean back. "A glass of wine, a bath, and you is all I want right now."

"All can be arranged," he says.

 **Evening: Day One**

I slide all the way down into the bath, my full stomach covered by the water. Derek made steak and potatoes and I am so stuffed, but the water feels good. The candles are lit and a bath bomb that smells like oranges fizzles by my feet. I have the view of the mountains and what a view it is. The stars are unreal; they look so close I feel like I could touch them.

The bathroom door opens and closes. A glass of wine appears in front of my face. I take it. "Is this the good bottle?"

"Yes," Derek says, discarding his robe.

There's music playing from Derek's iPod. Some band I've never heard of, but the music lulls me.

Derek steps into the bathtub by my feet. I slowly give him a once over.

"Checking me out?" he asks.

I hand him my glass of wine to set down. "I'm enjoying the show," I say.

He takes a sip from my glass and slides down into the bath. "It's so hot."

"I know."

"You're going to cook," he says, wincing as he lowers all the way down.

"I'm a doctor. I can assure you we won't cook."

Derek's legs slide to the outside of mine, his feet right near my hips. He picks up the bath bomb and smells it before tossing it back in. "So, what do you want to do tomorrow?" he asks.

"What _is_ there to do?" I don't mean it rude and it doesn't sound rude, but we both know there's not much going on around us. Also, the whole point is to hide away.

"Have you ever gone ice fishing?"

I raise my eyebrow. "Ice fishing."

He looks excited. "You, me, two chairs, a thermos of coffee, and a big hole in the ice. I can catch us something to eat tomorrow night."

I know I should say _why yes, let's go ice fishing_ , but I can't. It sounds terrible and cold and terrible. So I sit up and slide forward. I run my hands along Derek's arms beneath the water. "I love you," I begin, which makes him smile. "But if you think I'm going to go ice fishing, you're crazy."

For a second his expression drops and I feel badly. But then he smiles. "Fine, I'll go without you."

"When?"

"Before sunlight."

"Derek…"

"I'll bring Toby. He'll love it."

"Toby will hate it."

Derek grins. "Oh, I know. It'll be fun to watch him try to act enthusiastic."

"You're terrible."

Derek just nods.

I lean forward, my mouth right next to Derek's ear. "You have me naked in a bathtub. Are you sure you want to keep talking about Toby and fishing?"

For just a second, Derek pauses, and then he takes me by the waist. "You are absolutely right."

 **Before Sunrise: Day Two**

Derek kisses my neck, effectively waking me up. I can't open my eyes because I know it's early. Very early and I refuse to acknowledge the hour. Derek's right hand slides across my stomach and he wraps his left arm, the one I was sleeping on just seconds ago, tightly around my waist.

"Good morning," he whispers into my ear.

I grunt in return.

I can feel Derek smiling against my shoulder. "I'm going fishing with Grant and Toby."

Another grunt.

Derek begins kissing down my arm, pulling the blankets back as he goes. Immediately I'm freezing. I reach for the blankets and manage a painful, "No." I pull the covers back up, feeling warm and toasty again. Derek's head dips below the blankets and I feel his lips on my side, kissing from my waist down to my hip.

"You're not sleeping," he says, muffled beneath the covers.

I sigh, which I try to make sound irritated, but it comes out a little too high-pitched. It's probably because his lips are wrapped around my left nipple. "I'm trying to sleep," I say, half-heartedly.

Derek's tongue flicks my nipple and I shiver. I'm now on my back and Derek is moving up until his head pops out from the covers and he's holding himself above me. I blink my eyes open. His hair is disheveled and he looks tired, but he also has a glint in his eyes.

"I have a few minutes before I need to get ready," he says.

He's letting cool air in by hovering above me, so I reach up to pull him down on top of me. "Cold," is all I say.

I can feel that Derek is more than ready, but I'm not. Although, I am warming to the idea. For a second I just enjoy the feeling of him pressed on top of me. Both of us naked from earlier in the evening. The weight of him feels good. Feels right.

Derek knows me so well and he knows I can't just be ready for him. It takes a few minutes and a few very carefully placed fingers. His palm cups me and I tighten from instinct. He smiles and kisses me on the mouth as one finger slides inside me. My legs fall open for him and he rests himself against me while sliding his one finger in and out, before adding another. I feel tingles from head to toe.

"Worth waking you up for?" he asks.

"Mmmhmm," I nod and grip his shoulders.

Within minutes I'm moving my hips with his rhythm and I'm totally ready. I open my eyes when Derek slides his fingers out and I keep my gaze locked up him while he positions and slides back inside me. My eyes roll back because he moves so slowly and he releases the most delicious sound. For a few seconds, we don't move. He knows me so well, every little detail, everything that I like. Being with him feels natural and easy. But never boring. Never that.

It's still dark when we finish and if possible, I feel more tired than before. Derek kisses my cheeks and my chin before kissing my lips. "I have to fish," he says.

"You already said that."

He climbs from the bed and I turn to watch him go. He pulls on his boxers. "Get some more sleep," he says, leaning back across the bed to kiss me once more.

"Whatever you say, Mr. President."

He shoots me a grin.

 **Afternoon: Day Three**

I take one tentative step and Derek's hands reach forward to steady me.

"Don't fall," he says.

I wobble. "I make no promises."

Derek skates closer to me and takes me by the hips. My skates slide in opposite directions, but I don't fall because he's holding me. "Get your bearings."

I grip his arms. "I left my bearings on solid ground." I stare down at my skates. I tried to tell Derek I'd never been ice skating in my life, but to him it sounds like a challenge rather than a threat. I do manage to find some equilibrium and I steady myself. I look up at Derek.

He smiles. "Okay, good. So just slide one foot forward nice and slow."

Before I do that I mumble, "Why are you so good at everything?"

"What was that?" he asks.

"Nothing." I slide my left foot forward, but it feels like I'm about to fall.

Derek pulls me close again. "Trust your skates."

"You know, none of this is helping."

"We can do something else," he offers.

But I know he's dead set on having us skate together. I know he's trying. "No, just, don't let me go."

"No problem."

He holds onto me and begins skating backwards so I just sort of follow. He's basically dragging me, but it's working. Or it feels like it's working. I'm still upright, so I call that a win.

 **Dinner: Day Four**

Toby cracks open a second bottle of red wine, pouring his girlfriend, Megan, another glass and offering me some more. I hold up my nearly empty glass. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Toby kisses the top of Megan's head before heading back over to the kitchen where Derek and Natalie, Grant's wife, are cooking and Grant is helping by making a salad. Megan and I are useless in the kitchen, so we're basically just throwing witty quips into their conversation.

"He's a good guy," I tell Megan, as if she didn't know.

She nods. "The best. We've been together for three years. We've been through a lot."

"Including him saving the President."

"Well, you helped in that department, too."

"I did," I agree. "But if it weren't for Toby, there would've probably been a dead man on my table."

Megan takes a sip of wine. "When Matt told me he wanted to work for the President's Secret Service, I sort of thought it sounded cool. I told all my friends and we all went on and on about how badass it sounded. I never really thought anything would happen, though."

"And then it did."

"Yeah, on his first day, really."

"He's brave."

"So's your guy," she says. "Could you imagine being the President?"

"Hell no. I'll stick to cutting people open and saving their lives."

Megan laughs and shakes her head. "You all have very weird jobs. I'm a teacher. Nice and normal. I'll stick with that."

"That's a good plan."

Natalie sits down on the coffee table in front of us with a sigh. "I've been kicked out by your boyfriend," she says, pointing at me.

"He's kind of bossy," I agree.

I notice Megan nodding. Natalie says, "He said I wasn't roasting the potatoes long enough, so I've been kicked out. He said, 'Us guys will take care of dinner.'"

"I'm failing to find a problem." Natalie raises an eyebrow at me. "I am very good at what I'm doing right now," I lift my wine glass. "I am very bad at what they're doing. Any chance for Derek to cook for me, I take."

"So you never cook?" she asks.

I shake my head no. "Not if I can help it. Before Derek and I started dating, we'd have these phone dates, and—"

"That's so romantic," Megan chimes in.

"It was," I agree.

"How often?" Natalie asks.

"As often as we could. Sometimes every day for a week, sometimes just once a week. We were still trying to figure each other out and it gave us the chance."

Natalie and Megan share a longing look, as if they're watching a particularly cute scene in a romantic movie.

"Anyway," I continue. "I was cooking one time when we were on the phone. Just eggs, but I murdered everything and it was pathetic. Derek joked that he would hire me a chef so I wouldn't die. He showed up with chocolate cake that night." I think back, but the timing feels wrong. "No, maybe that was another night. I can't remember."

"So do you have a chef now?"

"No, I just know to buy everything from work."

Megan nods. "Same. I eat cafeteria food every day to keep from having to cook. I leave it up to Toby."

I feel a hand on my shoulder and look up to find Derek smiling down at me. "Dinner is served," he says. "And the potatoes are perfect," he says to Natalie.

She shoots him a look. "We'll see about that."

Derek takes my hand while we walk to the table. When he first suggested having Christmas Eve dinner with Toby, Megan, Grant, and Natalie, I was reserved. I wanted it to just be us, but standing here now with the tree twinkling from the corner, Christmas music playing in the background, and a tableful of people who feel like friends, I understand why he wanted this night to be full of laughter and chatter.

I lean into him and kiss him before we reach the table.

Derek pulls out my chair for me and then sits to my left, at the head of the table. Toby sits at the other head, but not before offering it to me first.

"Doctor Grey," he says, holding out the chair.

"If you don't call me Meredith, Toby, so help me…"

He grins. "You keep calling me Toby."

"Fine. _Matt_. And no thanks. I'm good here." Derek squeezes my hand beneath the table.

 **Morning: Day Five**

Derek and I decided to do small presents. Neither of us wanted to go through the trouble of lugging a bunch of presents from DC, even though he pays people to do the lugging. I also suggested small gifts because I'm still not sure what he wants or needs. We haven't come up with our traditions yet. I didn't want to get him a fishing pole he already had or Scotch he hates. So small sounded better. But just because my gift is small doesn't mean it's cheap.

We sit on the floor in front of the fireplace. I'm wearing novelty Christmas pajamas, which Derek only laughed minorly at when I put them on this morning. He's just wearing his college sweatshirt and flannel pants. I take a sip of my coffee. In an hour I'm going to call my parents to wish them a Merry Christmas, but for now it's just time for Derek and me.

Derek pulls back the paper on the gift I've given him and opens the box. He reads and then smiles.

"London."

I nod. "The whole UK, actually. You mentioned you never get to go unless for work. I figured we might want to take a trip."

He looks back down at the tickets. "London in the summer," he says fondly. "It's the best time."

"I know. And I know we're both busy, but I triple checked with Sophie to make sure you're free and if anything comes up, we can change the dates."

"I'll make sure nothing comes up." He leans forward and kisses me. "Thank you."

I grin at him. "Well, it's a selfish gift. It's as much for you as it is for me."

"Ah, well, mine is selfish, too."

He reaches behind him and gives me a medium-sized gift. "We promised small gifts," I remind him.

Derek holds up the tickets. "Are you telling me a week and a half in the United Kingdom is small?"

"Physically, yes."

"Just open the box."

I pull back the paper and lift the lid on the box, only to find another box. I give him a look. "Derek."

He smiles. "Keep going."

I open the second box to find another. "How many are there?"

"There's only been three so far. Chill out."

"Chill out?" I ask. "Okay Mr. 90s."

"Open the next one."

I open the third box, finding a box.

I open the fourth.

And the fifth.

The boxes are small now. Very small.

I open the sixth and inside is a small box from a jewelry store.

I stop opening boxes.

Derek smiles at me. "I'm suddenly nervous," he says.

"Derek, this isn't…" I can't even finish the sentence.

He nods. "I'm not crazy. I know this seems crazy and sudden and I don't want you to think it has anything to do with my job. I'm not proposing because I feel like I have to. I'm proposing because I love you and I want to have a life with you."

"But, Derek—"

"Just wait," he interrupts. "Before you try to rationalize how fast we're moving, think about how much we've been through in just a year."

"Eleven months," I remind him. "And we haven't even been together that whole time."

"I know." He reaches into the box and pulls out my gift. He slides the boxes in my lap away and moves closer to me. "We can have a long engagement. We can wait years, if you want. But I can't just call you my girlfriend. We both know you're so much more than that."

"We can make up another word, then." I say quickly. "Something between girlfriend and fiancée."

Derek shakes his head. "I don't want something in between. I want you to be my wife."

He opens the box.

"It was my mother's."

"Derek, I-I…"

"I want to be your husband," he says simply.

My heart is racing so fast. "You barely know me," I say softly.

Derek looks a little hurt. "I know you, Meredith. I know you as well as you know me and you _know_ me."

"I want to say yes, but—"

"Then say yes," he says.

The ring is beautiful. Vintage and simple with a single diamond in the middle and a white gold band. The diamond is big, but not too big. There's etching along the band, almost like little vines. I've never given much thought to my engagement ring, but this feels like something I'd choose for myself.

Derek moves the box out of my eye line. He meets my gaze. "What are you thinking?"

"The ring is beautiful," I tell him.

He nods. "What else?"

"Everyone is going to say we're crazy."

"I know." He laughs a little, but it sounds forced. He must be so nervous. "But what about you? Do you think this is crazy?"

The answer is so simple. Of course it's yes, but it's not the same yes that everyone else is going to be thinking and saying. It's the kind of yes that means we're doing the right thing. I can't explain it, so instead of saying yes, I say, "No. This isn't crazy."

"So is that a—"

I interrupt him.

 **Night: Day Six**

I have my head resting on Derek's shoulder as we fly over the Midwest. He has his hand on my knee. I'm half-asleep, but not fully asleep yet. I'm still aware of everything around me, but my eyes are shut. It's been a crazy day and a half and we haven't gotten much sleep. And it's not just from all the sex we've been having, but from all the phone calls we've been making and returning.

I feel Derek's lips against my ear. "What kind of cake do you like most in the world?"

"Chocolate."

"Good. We can still get married."

"I'm not wearing a veil," I tell him.

He nods. "And I won't be wear tails. A tux, sure, but no tails."

"And no top hat or cane."

"Agreed."

The loud roar of the plane lulls me and every time I'm about to fall asleep, Derek's whispering to me again. "Do you want to do the whole bridesmaid and groomsman thing, or can we be modern? I like the idea of just you and me standing up there with no one else."

"I can be modern," I say.

"Good. Oh, and what about food?"

"What about it?"

"Should we do sit-down or buffet? If we're doing modern, buffet would be more modern. Or we could just do a lot of appetizers. That'd be very modern."

I shrug. "I don't really care."

"I think a buffet. As long as we don't have too many people."

"Derek."

"Yes?"

I lift my head from his shoulder and open my eyes. "I love you, but if you don't shut up, I'm going to push you from this plane."

He grins slowly. "Yes dear."

"Thank you."

I lay my head back down on his shoulder and I feel his finger slide over my engagement ring. I told him I'd wear it now and when we make the announcement, and maybe to White House functions, but I refuse to wear it in my regular life. It's still beautiful and I love it, but I'm not a ring sort of girl. Plus I'm operating all day and I can't wear it while I cut. Derek said he didn't care either way as long as I still marry him.

He adjusts beside me and I'm guessing he's going to try and get some sleep as well. All I want is sleep. The next few weeks are going to be crazy. We've decided to make the announcement right away, but then wait for the actual wedding. I don't have cold feet, but our lives are really busy right now and we don't want to have to adjust to married life with millions of people watching. I don't know if that means that we'll get married after his time in office, but I'm not worried either way. We'll figure it out.

I begin to feel more relaxed by the second, but as I relax, my mind goes everywhere. There's a lot to consider about the wedding, but the one thing I'm sure of is who I'm marrying. "Derek?"

"Hmm?" he says in partial sleep.

"I think it's unfair that you asked me and I didn't ask you. So, will you marry me?"

His hand squeezes mine. "Yes."


	30. Together

**AN: Honestly, how have we gotten to chapter 30? I am blown away by all your kindness and really excited because we're in the home stretch. Now, a lot is still going to happen, and I do have a fair amount of chapters to post, but things are going to start moving quickly. I hope you enjoy where this is going. Thank you for all the support with your messages and reviews. I love reading them!**

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There's nothing quite like pulling together a team of very overpaid, smart, and incredibly nosy people to discuss how to tell the country about your relationship. I thought the whole sit down to reveal to everyone Derek and I were dating was a bad time, but the engagement announcement is even more of a headache.

Lily, the Press Secretary, lords over the rest of us—Derek and I, his Chief of Staff, the Chief of Staff's assistant, Lily's team of three, the Vice President, _his_ Chief of Staff, and three other people who I have no idea who they are or what they do.

"So do we all agree that tonight will be the best time to announce?" Lily asks.

Everyone looks to Derek, who then looks to me.

"Really?" I ask him.

"You usually yell at me when you're not included."

I catch Toby smiling.

I can't help but feel happy Derek's consulting me. I am the one person who holds back a lot of his team's plans. I always have my reasons, though. "Sure," I tell the group. They seem relieved. "It's as good a time as any. So how will you do it?"

"I thought we might just make the announcement at the party," Lily suggests.

"Really?" Derek asks. "Isn't that a little bold?"

"It's all bold," Alan, his Chief of Staff, says. "You're the first President in—"

"Yeah, yeah, a million years," Derek interrupts. "I'm the first President since the dinosaurs roamed the earth to be announcing an engagement."

Lily smiles and then continues, "You'll have photos taken before and Meredith can hide the ring. Everyone will already be in the ballroom and the press will be behind you. We'll announce you as the President of the United States and his fiancé, Doctor Meredith Grey. The press will take photos from behind, which I sort of love the idea of, and then you'll be too busy working the crowd to care what the rest of the world thinks."

"It is ingenious," I tell Derek.

He smiles at me.

"Plus you've told all your friends and family, right?" Lily asks.

"Yes," Derek confirms. "We told the last of Meredith's friends last night. Everyone who is important knows."

Telling my friends and family went way smoother than I thought, but it was still weird. The afternoon Derek and I got home, we went right to my mom and Richard's house. I didn't want to wait to tell my mother and Richard had assured me via text as I left Montana that she was having a good day. It was almost like my mom knew, because as soon as I walked in the door, she said, "You look different."

Derek and I shared a look and I guess the ring was very noticeable on my hand, so my mom lifted my hand and stared from the ring to me and then to Derek. "You're engaged," she said.

"Really?" Richard asked, very surprised I might add.

For a few seconds my mom and I just stared at each other and then she was hugging me. "Congratulations," she said just for me to hear. She pulled away and hugged Derek while Richard hugged me. "What happy news!" she said to Derek.

"Fine choice," Richard said to me and I laughed.

It's funny, I didn't cry when Derek proposed, but I did when seeing the joy on my mom and dad's faces.

When I told my friends, the scene wasn't so emotional. The day after I returned, Alex, Cristina, and I were sitting at our favorite bar after work. Alex was complaining about Jo.

"Wait, Jo?" I asked. "What about Amelia?"

Alex made a face. " _Amelia_?" he asked, as if he'd never heard her name before. "We were just sleeping together."

"Yeah, and you were just sleeping with Jo at the same time. I can't keep your life straight."

"Well, my life is straight," Cristina chimed in. "Owen and I are good. Very good. We had sex three times last night and got to scrub in together today. Life is good."

Now felt like the perfect time. "Derek and I are good, too. We're uh, actually…getting married."

I looked up and both Cristina and Alex were still busy eating peanuts.

"Did you hear me?" I asked.

"Haven't you only been together for like six months?" Alex asked.

"No, we've been together since April."

"So eight months," Cristina said.

I take a deep sip of beer. "You're both the worst."

Cristina smiled and looked up at me. "Congratulations, Mer."

Alex held up his beer. "Yeah, congrats Grey."

Derek and I also told his family, but I was mostly on the receiving end of a lot of calls from women just screaming at me into the phone. His mom was the only one who did more than just tell me how happy she was and how the wedding will be beautiful. Carolyn said to me, "I've waited a long, long time to see my son get married and I can't think of a better person in the world to become my newest daughter."

"Thank you, Carolyn," I said, getting a little choked up.

Derek just smiled at me from his position leaning against the doorway to my bedroom.

All and all the response has been great and at this moment I don't care about what anyone else has to say. So while everyone continues to talk strategy for the next fifteen minutes, I just watch Derek. He never sits during the discussion, choosing to stand at the head of the table. Even without saying anything, he commands the room and I find it so damn sexy. Maybe Alex is right and our engagement is quick, but I know I want to marry Derek.

After the meeting, we head to the private residence to get ready for the New Year's Eve party. For once it's not an occasion for a charity or a visiting leader from another country. The party is just a way to bring together everyone who works in the White House and for the White House, and for family and friends. Mine and Derek's families will be attending, as will my friends, and not just Alex and Cristina, but Callie, Arizona, Jackson, April, Owen, Bailey, Ben, and Jo, if Alex decides to invite her.

But before the party can even start, I need to get ready.

"Really? A _white_ dress?" I ask my stylist, Julie. Sometimes it makes me nauseous even thinking I have a stylist. But tonight, the fact that I'm in white makes me want to puke. "I don't want to burst your bubble, but I have had sex before." I say the last part in a sarcastic whisper.

Julie glares at me in the mirror. "It wasn't my choice. I had picked out this beautiful blush-colored A-line dress that would just highlight your…" She meets my eyes. "Okay, you don't care. The point is, my choice was overruled."

"By who?"

"The President's merry men."

I sigh. "Alan."

Julie just subtly nods.

If it weren't for us announcing our engagement tonight, the dress wouldn't make me want to puke. It's actually very beautiful and is not a wedding dress, really. It is white and it is long, but it's also covered in beading and very shiny. The dress is more figure-hugging than any of my previous formal dresses for White House events, which is an interesting choice coming from Alan. I'm hoping he noticed the color and not the cut, otherwise he'd be taking a bit too much interest in me.

Anyway, the dress is beautiful and I love it, but it's just too timely. As Julie zips it into place, I look down at the ring on my hand, adjusting it so the diamond shows. I've had it twisted around for hours now because we're not supposed to show the diamond until after the official photos are taken for the event. I'm also wearing the ring on my wrong hand. I have to remember not to wave with my right hand. Maybe I shouldn't wave at all.

"All done," Julie says. "Now turn to me."

I do as I'm told. Julie grabs a small sponge and presses along my jawline.

"Perfect," she says.

I'm nervous.

Julie asks, "Are you nervous?"

I lie. "I'm fine."

She sees right through my lies. "Okay, I'll release you to the President. But no kissing or you'll ruin your makeup."

"Yes ma'am."

I leave my temporary dressing room and walk down the private hallway to Derek's bedroom. I knock on the doorframe in case he's got company (Alan knows no boundaries, apparently), but I don't wait for a confirmation. Derek is standing in the mirror fixing his cufflinks. "Yes?" he asks, not looking up.

I let my dress down from the bunch I'd gathered in my hand. I say nothing.

Derek eventually looks up and his gaze softens. He turns quickly to me, ignoring that he only has one cufflink secured. "Alan said you'd be wearing white."

"Apparently he chose it. Don't get any funny ideas. I might not even wear white on our wedding day."

"Maybe that's why Alan chose it," he suggests and walks towards me.

"Can we stop talking about Alan?"

"Yes," Derek says and leans down to kiss me.

I stop him. "No kissing. You'll ruin my makeup. That's what Julie told me," I say after he gives me a look.

"Fine, I'll use my words. You look incredible."

"So do you." I smile at him. "Now give me this." I reach for his cufflink and I work it through his suit jacket. I feel Derek kiss the top of my head and I close my eyes for a second and smile. I secure his cufflink and step back. "Now we're both perfect."

Derek offers me his arm, "Some more than others."

We're called a few minutes later and make our way downstairs to the ballroom. The party is in the main ballroom, but also partially outside, despite the cold. There are heaters set up everywhere and when I was out there last night while the crew was setting up, they turned them on for me and I realized the party planner was right—you don't even need a coat. Derek has fireworks planned for later on the South Lawn, so we'll all gather beneath the heaters, which is the part I'm most looking forward to.

Derek and I take official photos on the gold carpet leading into the ballroom. I keep my arm linked through his before switching to taking his hand. I don't wave, but Derek does. I'm used to the official photo thing now, but I still wish we could walk into a party together without having a million flashbulbs blinding us for almost twenty minutes.

After the photos, it's go time. I discretely move my ring to my left hand and turn the diamond out. Derek takes my hand and runs his thumb across the diamond. He does that often and I really like it (although I'm still not going to wear the ring every day).

"So I should tell you something."

I look up at him. "And you're choosing now…because?"

"You're going to be mad and you can't be mad in a few seconds."

"Tell me."

"Well—"

"The White House welcomes all of you to our New Year's Eve party," Lily announces, effectively cutting Derek off. We're standing behind closed doors, but any second they'll open and I'm officially nervous.

"Derek," I say under my breath.

"Please welcome the President of the United States, Derek Shepherd, and the future Mrs. Shepherd, Doctor Meredith Grey."

Derek gives me a brief, apologetic look before turning on his brilliant smile. I'm not so quick to recover, but I do manage a smile just as the doors open. _Mrs. Shepherd_. I'm going to kill him.

Behind us, flashbulbs go off and I hear our names being shouted. In front of us is a crowd of mostly people who don't know yet, so people are cheering loudly. Many of our guests look to one another, trying to figure out if the people around them knew. Derek squeezes my hand and with the other waves to everyone. I wave as well. In the crowd I see my friends and my family sharing a table towards the front of the hall. I look to Cristina and find her smiling, clearly very happy for us. Just seeing my friends and family allows me to relax.

The music begins not long after and people abandon their tables for the cocktail hour before dinner. The crowd is relaxed, being that it's friends, family, and people who work directly with Derek, so I don't feel like a lush when I grab a second glass of wine from a passed tray. I loop my arm through Derek's, having the ring at the ready since everyone wants to see it, and we walk through the crowd to greet everyone.

As we walk through the crowd, parading my ring around, I realize I'm doing this for him. I'm not the kind of woman to gush over an expensive ring, but I'm doing it either way. I decided it doesn't hurt me to act excited about the ring, but it does make Derek happy. It's important for us to make these small adjustments, just like Derek allowing me to go back to my house. _Allowing_ isn't the right word, but it was a small adjustment that made me happy.

Towards the end of the cocktail hour, we reach Derek's family's table and my family's table. I hug each of his sisters and show the ring. Carolyn hugs me for an extra-long time, which makes me feel very welcome in her family. I go on to hug my parents and Callie, Arizona, Owen, and April. Jackson and Jo give me their congratulations, but we've never been close so I don't expect a hug. Alex and Cristina don't hug me either, but if they did, it'd be weird.

"So, Mrs. Shepherd," Cristina says with a grin.

"Shut up."

"I think it's sweet," April says.

"You didn't take his last name," I say and point to Avery.

April nods. "True. But he's an Avery." She says his last name like a dirty word.

"What's wrong with that?" Jackson asks.

"Oh honey," April says. They smile at each other and share a kiss.

"Well I think it's nice you're taking Derek's last name," Arizona says.

"I am _not_ taking Derek's last name."

I feel Derek's arm wrap around my waist. "Hey everyone," he says with a grin. He is so oblivious that we were just talking about him. I go on to reintroduce him to the friends he might not know as well as Cristina and Alex and even introduce him to those he hasn't met yet. Owen seems particularly star-struck, which I find funny, but Cristina rolls her eyes at.

"Thank you all for coming," Derek says kindly.

"Thank you for inviting us," Callie chimes in. "This place is—"

"Beautiful," Arizona cuts her off.

"Well, I'm only leasing it," Derek says with a grin and everyone laughs. It feels weird. I wonder how many times Derek's used that line. He looks down at me. "What?"

I shake my head. "People laugh at your lame jokes."

He nods. "Well, I _am_ the President."

Cristina nudges me and hands me her phone. "Look who's popular."

She's pulled up _POTUS_ as a hashtag on Twitter and already there's a slew of tweets. Cristina slides through them quickly, but the general consensus is: _why are they getting married so quickly_? The next question is: _is she pregnant_?

Derek reads over my shoulder. "It doesn't look so bad," he says with a hopeful tone.

"I'm not pregnant," I say loudly enough for my friends and family to notice. I shrug when they all give me a look. "Well I'm not."

"We'll clarify that."

Cristina takes her phone back and Derek digs in his pocket for his. I stop him. "Can we not? Just for tonight? Don't look. You know Lily will tell you all about it tomorrow."

Derek stops. "You're right."

I am right, but even so, I keep rereading some of the tweets in my head.

The band strikes up Fleetwood Mac's "Landslide" and Derek holds his hand out to me. This is our cue. I give my friends a smile before following Derek to the empty dance floor. He draws me in close and people crowd along the edge of the floor, taking pictures and whispering back and forth. I'm only paying to those people for a few seconds before I turn my attention to Derek.

He hates dancing in public, but he's so good at it. He has this confidence as he leads me around the dance floor, making me look better than I am. I can dance to a fast song like no other, but I've never been known for my grace.

Derek smiles at me. "So…Mrs. Shepherd?" he asks.

Immediately I'm mad at him. Fake mad, but I'm going to ham it up. "My first thought when they announced that was: _I'm going to kill him_."

"I think my Secret Service agents might have a problem with that."

"Did you really think I'd be okay with you announcing that I'm changing my name to Mrs. Shepherd?"

"Of course not."

"So that's why you didn't tell me."

He nods. "Absolutely."

"I'm going to kill you," I say through a smile, because the pictures and videos are still being recorded.

Derek's cheek is pressed against the side of my head as he dances close to me. It sort of feels like our first dance. Like our wedding first dance. Although I'm not sure I want to do a wedding first dance. Derek says, "Yes dear."

We dance the whole song and then they open the dance floor to other couples. I notice my mom and Richard walk out, both looking dazzling. Callie and Arizona join as well. It doesn't feel so intimate now with people around, so Derek and I just dance.

Towards the end of the second song, I notice Richard following my mom off the dance floor and as they approach their table, my mom turns to him and begins to back away slowly. She looks panicked. I pull slightly away from Derek and he looks where I'm looking. "Are you okay?" he asks.

"Ellis," is all I say.

Derek begins to walk off the dance floor with me, but not panicked. He smiles to a few people as we pass. He keeps his hand in mine.

As we approach the table, I can hear Ellis yelling at Richard. "Don't touch me! Who are you? Where are we?" she asks and then looks directly at me. "Who is this man?" she asks me.

I release Derek's hand. "Mom, this is Richard." I place my hand on Richard's shoulder and he looks down at me sadly. "He is your husband. You know him," I tell her.

"Mom?" she asks me. "I'm not a mom. I'm twenty-three! Where's Thatcher?"

My mom is still backing away slowly. I notice Grant is standing by close. He's clearly watching the situation. "Thatcher isn't here, Ellis," I try to sound cheerful. "You're at the White House. Don't you remember getting invited?"

She shakes her head. "Who invited me?"

"The President," I tell her. Derek steps next to me and I expect him to play along, but I turn to him quickly. "She won't know who you are," I tell him. I turn to Richard. "Who was the President when she was twenty-three? Was that…" I do the quick math. "1979?"

Richard thinks and then says, "Carter. President Jimmy Carter."

My mom looks around. "I don't see him." She looks down at herself. "What is this?" she says about her dress. The dress is probably too modern and too conservative for a 23-year-old stuck in 1979.

Grant walks towards us. "Sir," he says to Derek. "People are noticing." I know Grant isn't saying that because he's embarrassed. He probably knows my mom will be embarrassed. He's trying to be kind. But I'm feeling vulnerable.

"Who cares?" I snap at him. "My mother is very confused right now and you're another stranger. Go away."

"Meredith," Derek says softly to me.

I look at him. He looks sad. I glance back over at Grant, who hasn't relinquished his post at Derek's side, while overlooking the room. "I'm sorry," I say, mostly to Grant, but also to Derek and maybe my mom, too.

Grant nods. "Ellis," he says to her. "I work for the President."

"Wh-" I begin and take a step towards Grant.

"Wait," Derek says.

We're all standing around my mom like she's a wounded deer and she'll bolt at any second.

"Would you like to go outside and get some air with me?" Grant offers her his arm. "I know parties like this can be overwhelming."

My mom sizes him up and I realize what Grant is doing. He's a third party in this. He isn't related to her, so when she doesn't know him, it won't affect him. If Richard tries to take my mother anywhere at this moment, she'd probably freak out and she doesn't even know I'm her daughter, so it wouldn't work. Derek can't just disappear right now to calm down my sick mother, so Grant is the natural choice.

After a few seconds and Ellis looking at each of our anxious faces, she takes Grant's arm. "Fine."

Grant walks my mother out the side door and I release a breath I didn't realize I was holding.

I turn to Richard. "What happened?"

He shakes his head. "One moment she was Ellis and we were joking about all the fancy outfits we've been wearing since you two got together and the next moment she has no idea who I am."

"I thought she'd been good lately."

"She has been. It's been almost a week since her last episode."

I run my hand across my forehead, feeling a headache coming on. "She shouldn't have come."

"She wanted to."

"Yeah, well she brings her evil, forgetful twin sister sometimes, so she shouldn't have come if there was a risk she'd forget us."

Derek's arm wraps around my shoulder. "Meredith," he says. "It's not Richard fault."

I ignore Derek. "She should be in a home."

Richard looks stunned. "She's still Ellis seventy percent of the time. I'm not putting her in a home because it interrupted your evening. She's my _wife_ and I don't care if her episodes inconvenience you."

"That's not—"

"I'll go," Richard says. "I can take care of her. If it's too much of a burden on you, then don't come around anymore. I'm sure your mom will understand."

He begins to walk away. "Richard," I call after him, but I sound more tired than desperate.

Derek drops his arm from my shoulder. "I feel bad," I tell him.

"I should get back to making my rounds before dinner."

I look up at Derek and can tell he's upset. "What's wrong?" It feels silly to ask after what just happened, but I wouldn't think Derek would be upset about my mom. Not that he wouldn't _care_ , but there's a difference between caring and the troubling look on his face right now.

"Richard is doing his best," he says to me. "You should be, too."

"Are you _mad_ at me?"

"You could've been more supportive. You, also, wanted your mom here tonight."

"Yeah, but I thought she hadn't sundowned in weeks."

"What difference does it make?"

"I can't believe you're mad at _me_ right now."

Derek shakes his head. "I'm not mad. I have a job to do. Are you coming to make the rounds with me or not?"

I have a responsibility, but right now, I don't care. "Not," I tell him and head in the other direction.

\\\\\

Hours later, the bedroom door opens and Derek is standing there in his tux. The dinner is surely over by now. I heard the guests counting down to midnight and then I saw the fireworks through the window. Our first New Year's together, and I sat alone.

I should've left the White House all together, but I figured that would be even worse. I don't think any wife or fiancé of the President has ever just left a dinner, even if it was a dinner for just staff, friends, and family of the White House. I kept thinking about going back downstairs, but couldn't swallow my pride.

"You're here," he says.

"I would've thought Toby would've told you that."

Toby stopped in earlier to make sure I was okay. He brought me a piece of pie and a glass of red wine. Both were devoured within minutes.

"I haven't seen him." Derek shuts the door behind him and begins to untie his bowtie. I changed an hour ago after sitting in my dress for a few hours. I kept thinking he'd come find me and demand me to go downstairs or that I'd swallow my pride, but neither happened. About an hour ago, I removed my makeup, took my hair down, and changed into my pajamas.

Derek says nothing and walks into the bathroom. I can hear his shoes squeaking on the tile floor. I have a pocket of dread in my stomach.

I'm about to say something when Derek says, "Richard left with Ellis not long after you came up here. She was okay, but embarrassed so they went home. I thought you'd like to know."

"Yes, thank you," I call towards the bathroom, feeling oddly formal.

"And the dinner was good. I told everyone you were sick. Cristina didn't seem to believe me, but everyone else was satisfied with the answer."

"Okay. Thank you."

Derek shows up in the bathroom doorway. He's removed his jacket and untucked his shirt from his cummerbund. "Everyone's gone now. You can go back to your house." He's looking at me, but he's not really.

"I thought I was staying tonight."

He walks back into the bathroom. "I'm not sure that's a good idea."

I stare towards the bathroom door, expecting an explanation, but all I hear is running water. Derek is brushing his teeth. A year ago, I might've just gone without a word, but I don't want to be that person any longer. I never fought in my previous relationships. With Derek, it's different. I stand up and walk to the threshold of the bathroom.

"Why?" I ask. He looks at me in the mirror. "Because we had a fight?"

Derek spits into the sink. He wipes his mouth. "Partially. But you also snapped at Grant and you blamed your father for not keeping your previously completely coherent mother home."

"So because I had a bad reaction to my mom being sick tonight, you're banishing me?"

I cross my arms over my chest.

"I'm not banishing you. But I do think a night apart would do us good."

"We spend every night apart. We barely see each other."

Derek sighs. "This again?" he asks.

I agree that I don't want to talk about our time apart. "No, not this again." He begins to unbutton his shirt. "I'm staying."

"Fine by me," he says in a tone that screams he is _not_ fine and he heads back into the bedroom, walking past me and saying nothing as he goes. He begins to remove his cufflinks with his shirt rolled down over his wrists.

"I'm sorry I snapped at Grant. I told him that."

Derek nods. "You did."

"And I'm sorry to Richard. He made it sound like she was getting better, so I was a little shocked that my mom had a meltdown tonight."

"You're a doctor, Meredith. You know your mom isn't getting better." He slides his opposite arm up into the shirt to reach the cufflink.

"I know, but I was told she'd been okay. That she'd be okay tonight."

Derek takes a brief pause from his struggling to say, "Your mom was okay tonight. She had a few minutes where she was confused, but then she was herself again within twenty minutes. _You_ , on the other hand, became someone different."

"Different how? Because I didn't just smile through my mom not recognizing me? Do you even know what that feels like?"

"No," he says quickly. "I don't. But every time I try to figure out how you're feeling about your mom, you shut me down. You tell me you don't want to talk about it. And I understand that, but I also think it's a little unfair that you snapped at the people who loved you tonight, but you never admit that anything is wrong."

Derek shakes his wrist with his stupid shirt still attached by cufflink.

"Jesus," I sigh and walk over to him. "Let me help you."

I roll Derek's shirt up his wrist and hold it steady with my pinky while I carefully remove his one cufflink. He's watching me as I move to the right wrist and do the same. I hold the cufflinks in my hands and show them to him. "There." I turn to set them down on the mantle over the fireplace when Derek stops me with a hand on my forearm.

"You're hurting," he says.

Very slowly, I turn my gaze to his and meet his eyes. "Of course I am," I say quietly.

"Then we should talk about it."

"I don't want to. Nothing will change with us discussing my mother's illness. You're right, she's not going to get better and these episodes are going to become more frequent. I'm living it, so I don't want to talk about it." Derek releases my arm and nods. "But thank you," I add. "For caring."

"Of course."

With a sigh I say, "I should call Richard and apologize."

"Okay. I'll wait up for you."

I nod and walk towards the door to Derek's private office. I pause at the door and look back and he's slowly pulling back the covers. "Hey Derek?"

He turns to me. "Yeah?"

"I know I said I didn't want to rush into marrying you, but with my mom… Well, maybe sooner is better than putting it off."

He smiles. "I'd marry you right now if you'd allow me."

I return his smile. "Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow."

"Maybe," he agrees.

We're both kidding, although maybe he's not. But I'm happy that we both agree. Now is not the time to wait and plan forever and eventually get to our wedding day. My mom might forget me soon and I know she'd want to be there with me on my big day. Or small day. Derek and I will have to figure that out. And we will figure it out. We always figure things out together.


	31. Report

**AN: I chose not to post last week after the election because I needed a minute. I think a lot of Americans are currently worried and for those of you who voted and your candidate won, congratulations. I know everyone is so tired of hearing about the US election, especially our international friends, so I won't discuss it anymore. In this story, Derek Shepherd is the 45th President and that makes me happy.**

 **Thank you, as always, for the comments, although I didn't hear from many of you last time around. I hope you're all doing well!**

* * *

" _Good morning D.C. and thank you for tuning into_ Right Now _with Denise Williams."_

" _And Matt Easton. Today's headline follows the President and his future wife."_

" _That's right, Matt. News broke last night that the soon-to-be-missus of the 45_ _th_ _President will have a wedding planner on staff to plan her eventual nuptials, although we still haven't received our save the dates."_

" _No we haven't. A source inside the White House claims Doctor Grey has been practically living with the President since their engagement announcement nearly three weeks ago and she refuses to do her own planning."_

" _We've also learned that the good doctor has no interest in becoming the First Lady and we learned from a reliable source, Doctor Grey has said, quote,_ 'The position of the First Lady is archaic and demeaning. I'm a doctor, not a party planner.' _I'm not sure what former FLOTUSs have to say about that, but I'm guessing Michelle Obama wouldn't see her eight years in the White House as demeaning."_

" _Certainly not. I have no problem with the President getting married and I actually think after how his year started, it's a romantic story for him to marry the doctor who saved his life."_

" _Exactly!"_

" _But I do take issue with how Doctor Grey has been portraying herself. For one, we've been told to address her as Doctor Grey, not Miss Grey or Meredith Grey."_

" _Agreed, Matt._ Miss _Grey has been a thorn in the White House's side since day one and I don't think I'm the only person who looks at all she's been granted and wonders:_ why _?"_

" _You're not the only one. I, personally, am tired of hearing about her. I think we should focus on the President's policy and what he's going to do with terror groups in the Middle East. Instead, the news we're given from the White House is all about some fairy tale, which, let's be honest, is a bit rushed."_

" _A bit? I'm with everyone else on this one. I think the White House is keeping something from us. I wouldn't be surprised if she were pregnant. And you know that wouldn't play well with the religious folks."_

" _Definitely not. In other news…"_

\\\\\

The door to the lab opens and Cristina walks right in. "The news was interesting this morning," she tells me.

I lean back from the slide I was studying and watch as Cristina takes a seat across from me. She's wearing a scrub cab; she's just come from surgery.

I could pretend I didn't watch the news, but I did. "Derek tells me to stop watching it. He says it's all toxic."

"It is," Cristina agrees.

"I know, but I'd rather know what people are saying than be in the dark."

"Well, it's not like they haven't been talking about you the whole time."

I nod. "I agree, but that doesn't mean I'm used to people commentating on my relationship. It's one thing if you and Alex think we're rushing into it, but it's a whole different thing when people are gossiping about it in the morning news."

"You know I support your decision, right? Who knows about Alex, but I do."

"I know. And I know Alex does, too. It's just been a lot lately."

Cristina picks up an empty slide and runs her finger along the edge. "How's your mom?" she asks.

Ever since New Year's, I haven't been talking about my mom much. I still feel badly about how I acted, especially towards Grant and Richard—who have both forgiven me—but I'm also mad about how Derek reacted. Everything I do is put under a microscope and my mom's condition is hard to deal with, especially now that she's sun downing almost every night. She'll be here and then gone for thirty minutes, an hour, maybe two. She eventually comes back, but each time the toll it takes on Richard and me is debilitating. Not to mention the toll it takes on my mom.

Derek doesn't understand. He has an entire country to keep safe, so I know he's busy, but he just doesn't understand why I can't just put on a brave face. I've cancelled two dinners in the last two weeks because I need to be with my mom and I need to be at work. Derek says he understands I need time with my family right now, but I can still tell he's disappointed. I'm also disappointed because it feels like every time I bring my mom up, he manages to change the subject.

At least my friends still ask.

"She was good this morning when I called. She encouraged me to pick her work up again."

"That's good. You have the mice for research, so might as well continue the trial."

"Yeah, except I'm as lost as ever. And I haven't been in the OR in almost two days. Bailey's breathing down my neck. I think she thinks I can't focus."

"Can you?" Cristina asks.

I glare at her. "Yes."

"Okay."

My phone rings next to the microscope I was using and I read Derek's name. I pick up my phone and show Cristina.

She nods. "See you later."

"Wanna grab lunch?" I ask.

"Sure. Does one work?"

I nod. "I'll meet you in the cafeteria."

Cristina leaves the room and I answer my phone, trying to sound more chipper than I feel.

"Hey!" I sound like I'm overcompensating.

"Hey," Derek responds just as chipper. "What are you up to?"

"I'm working on my trial. You?"

"Well, I was wondering if you could come over to the White House later."

I look at the clock on the wall. It's barely ten in the morning and already this feels like the longest day. "For what?" I ask. As far as I remember, there's nothing on the schedule.

Derek sounds like he's walking because he's a little out of breath. He's probably rushing to a meeting or to answer a call. "Well, today is the 20th," he says matter-of-factly. As if I know what that means.

"The 20th?" I ask.

"Yeah. Inauguration Day."

"Oh," it dawns on me. "It's been a year."

"Exactly. So I was thinking about getting together everyone who was there that day and who put me back together. You, Richard, Cristina, my team. What do you think?"

I want to be supportive and I want to say yes, but I don't want to spend precious hours of free time I have between state dinners and the hospital discussing how Derek almost died a year ago. I don't want to think about it because every day in the news we hear about his shooter and the trial, which is coming up in just a few weeks. I want to support Derek, but I also would rather just spend time with him.

Derek notices my long pause. "You don't want to," he says.

"I know it's important to you and you know I support you, but…can we just spend the night alone?"

Derek's quiet for a few seconds. "I don't want to be rude to the people who saved me."

"I know."

"I promise the dinner won't be long. Just a couple of hours."

A year ago, I wouldn't be bending for a significant other. I used to not bend because I thought I'd look weak. And maybe I am weak. But I'm also in this thing with Derek and if I'm going to become his wife, I need to at least try when he asks me to. So I say, "Okay. Sure."

I can tell he's happy. "And will you spend the night?"

I remember the newscasters discussing my time at the White House and they're right, I do practically live there. But often the only quiet time Derek and I get are at the end of the day. I won't deprive myself of the quiet with him. "Yes."

"Okay. Toby will pick you up at six. I gotta go. Love you. Bye." He ends the call.

\\\\\

" _The President held a press conference today to discuss the recent email scandal coming out of Russia and the question portion went a little awry."_

" _A little awry—it went completely off track within minutes."_

" _Actually, with just one question it completely took a turn, Jeff. Let's watch."_

" _President Shepherd, can you tell us if Meredith Grey is pregnant?"_

" _No. She is not pregnant."_

" _Then why the rush into marriage?"_

" _We're here to talk about our email servers, Clint, not my personal life."_

" _Your personal life has been all anyone has been focusing on weeks now. People are asking questions and people believe you and Miss Grey are hiding something."_

" _We are not hiding anything._ Doctor _Grey and I are not rushing into marriage. We've made a decision that we're both happy with and once we're ready, we will share more news about our upcoming wedding. For the time-being, we ask for privacy."_

" _When will the wedding be?"_

" _I'm done with questions."_

" _Mr. President!"_

" _The President couldn't get a handle on the crowd and he just left."_

" _And he didn't look happy about the press today."_

" _No, he didn't."_

\\\\\

In the afternoon, I finally get a surgery for a kid with a liver laceration after falling from a tree. The surgery start just after five and by six, I'm still repairing the boy's spleen. I ask one of the scrub nurses to text Derek and tell him I'll be late and I keep having her text him until I'm out of surgery around 7:30. He never texts back and I feel badly for missing his dinner.

After I scrub out, I call Derek, but of course I get another page to OR two. I head towards the OR and Derek answers his phone.

"I'm sorry," I say immediately.

"I know. You had surgery."

"You got my texts?"

"I did."

"You didn't text me back."

"Well, you were in surgery."

"Oh. Okay. Yeah. I just thought you'd say 'okay' or something."

"Where are you now?" he asks.

"I have to run to OR two for some reason. After that, I'll come to the White House. I hope the dinner went well. I really am sorry."

"We didn't have a dinner. With you not being there, it seemed pointless." I can't tell if he's mad. He doesn't sound mad, but he doesn't sound happy either. He's emotionless.

"Oh. Well we could do it now. It's not too late."

"But you have to go to OR two."

I round the corner to the OR. "It'll just take a second."

"Well I hope not."

"What?"

I open the door to OR two and Derek is standing in the middle of the room.

"What?" I repeat into the phone.

He grins at me. "Come on in." He hangs up the call.

I push the button and walk into the operating room. "Derek, what are—"

"Shh, shh, shh," he says. He has his hands in his pockets and he looks just incredible. His hair is tousled from the wind, or maybe his fingers running through, and his cheeks are a little pink from the cold. He holds his hand out to me, which I take. "We're in OR two," he says.

"I know. Why are we in OR two?"

Derek steps back so we can both take in the room. "A year ago today Dennis Walker shot me on the steps of the US Capitol Building. I was brought here for surgery. I wasn't conscious, so I don't remember it, but I've been told we were in OR two."

I remember the day vividly. "Yes."

"The first thing I remember after waking up after surgery was you. You asked me if I knew where I was."

"Well, I couldn't ask you who the President was because you'd have to say yourself and then you'd look conceited."

Derek laughs. "You were asking me all kinds of questions, which pissed Grant off—thanks for that."

I squeeze his hand. "You're welcome."

"And I answered your questions."

"You did. And then you told me you weren't a very good test taker and not to tell the American people that."

Derek looks at me. "I said that?"

I nod. "You were on pain meds."

He smiles. "I remember thinking you were really hot."

"Really hot?" Derek never talks like that.

"Oh yeah. You were this hot, smart doctor who stood up to me and Grant. You didn't take our shit when we wanted to have meetings and make decisions."

"You were hurt. I wasn't going to let that happen."

Derek nods. "I remember asking your name before you went to get my family. After you left, I just kept repeating your name again and again until Grant made me stop. He said I was embarrassing him."

"You repeated my name?"

"I was smitten," he says. " _Am_ smitten."

I turn to Derek. "Why are you in here?" I ask.

He sighs. "You saved my life in this room. We started in this room."

"We did, but that doesn't answer—"

"The last few weeks have been hard on us. Hard on you. Between your mom and the demands of me and the White House and all the news stories breaking every day, I know it's been tough."

"It has," I agree.

Derek looks away when he says, "If you wanted to reconsider…"

"Reconsider?" I ask.

"Us," he answers. "If you wanted to, I—"

"No," I interrupt. "There's nothing to reconsider. Do you think we should reconsider?"

Derek shakes his head. "No. But I do think we should set a date and start making plans because I can't take the media asking me and throwing you under the bus."

"Okay. Let's set a date. What month?"

"You want to set a date right _now_?"

"Yes," I tell him. "How's June?"

"June," he repeats. He thinks on it. "I can't think of anything I have planned for June."

"Great. How about the first weekend in June?"

Derek pulls out his phone and flips forward. I peek over to see the date. "June 3rd," he says.

"The third. Sounds perfect."

"Really?"

"Yes. I'll tell the wedding planner, June 3rd."

Derek smiles at me. "So, we set a date."

I nod. "We did. We should tell people."

"Just family and friends."

"Of course."

Derek pauses for a second before asking, "What if your mom is worse by then?"

I've thought a lot about my mom and my wedding and anyway I look at it, I don't think she'll be her, even if I get married in a month. She's declining so quickly and I don't have any guarantee that she'll be fine for any specific date. "She will be," I tell Derek. I shrug. "But she'll be there."

"If you wanted it earlier," he begins to suggest.

"I do, but if I asked the wedding planner for any date before June, she might explode."

Derek smiles. "Sarah did say June was the earliest she could put the wedding together."

"Exactly. It'll be fine."

"As long as you're sure."

"I am," I confirm. I look around the OR. "Did you want to stay here all night or—"

"No. I thought we could have some dinner and then do nothing. Answer no calls, no pages from the hospital. Ignore the news and just become hermits for the night. Sound good to you?"

"Sounds perfect."

\\\\\

" _I know she's the hero in all this, but Meredith Grey isn't so perfect. We've done some digging here at TMZ and found out some more about the 'good doctor's' history. She spent quite a bit of time in Europe between undergrad and med school."_

" _And most of that time was spent on her back."_

" _It's true. We've confirmed with at least a dozen men who have claimed to have slept with Meredith Grey and some say there was no protection used during their tryst."_

" _We also talked to a friend of Meredith's at that time who confirms she and the doctor had bets about who could sleep with more men. The friend, who asked to remain anonymous, said Meredith won that bet."_

" _I'm not sure the President has been made aware of his bride-to-be's history, but maybe this will put some things in perspective for him."_

\\\\\

Derek sits down next to me, pulling the blanket up around his shoulders. He's like a furnace beside me and it's a welcome feeling; the night is freezing, but I needed air, so Derek suggested heated blankets and spiked hot chocolate. I slide in closer to him and he wraps his arm around my shoulder.

"This was a good idea," he says.

I nod. "It was. I like the view from here."

We're sitting on the balcony overlooking the South Lawn and in the distance, the Washington Monument. It's one of the most private areas in the White House. From here no one can see us and it feels like our own private little escape.

Derek runs his hand up and down my arm. "I want to just stay in this little bubble with you."

I glance up at his face. "I feel like you're going to say 'but.'"

"I am." He looks regretful.

"It's fine. Whatever you need to talk about."

Derek takes a deep breath. "Have you…by any chance…listened to the news this morning? And by the news, I mean TMZ."

I shake my head. The only news I heard this morning was about me having the audacity to hire a wedding planner. "No. Why?"

"Never mind," Derek says quickly.

I pull back a bit so I can really stare at him. "Tell me."

"I don't want to sound like I'm accusing you of anything."

"What did TMZ say?" I feel a bit of dread in my stomach.

Derek shakes his head. "I don't believe it, first and foremost. I mean, they're obviously overstating what really happened."

"Derek, I swear to god, if you don't tell me—"

"They were talking about your trip to Europe," he says.

I think back to my time in Europe, trying to find something I did that would warrant the look on my fiancé's face, but all I remember was having a good time. "What about Europe?" I ask. "I went in my early twenties for a few months with my friend Sadie."

Derek nods. "Yeah."

I wait for him to say more. "Derek, what's the problem with me going to Europe?"

"Did you sleep with a lot of men when you where there?" he asks quickly. And then follows it up with, "I feel like an ass for asking you that. Because it doesn't matter. It's just some bullshit TMZ is reporting."

I lean back into the seat. "Yeah, I did."

"You did?" There's a tone in Derek's voice. I glance at him.

"Is that a problem?"

He doesn't answer right away. When he does answer, it takes him some time. "No. It's not a problem." I'm not sure I believe him. He continues, "You were young."

"Okay, but then why do you sound unhappy with me?"

"I'm unhappy with the reporters, not you. And your friend Sadie for spilling."

"Did they say Sadie told them?" I'm surprised if that's true because Sadie was never a narc.

Derek nods. "They didn't say her name, but they said a friend traveling with you who wished to remain anonymous."

I shake my head. "I'm surprised on that one. Unless they found her, I don't think she would've tracked them down for the story, but what do I know? I haven't seen her in over a decade." I look over at Derek and he's still looking out over the lawn. "Hey, are you sure you're not mad? Although, I have to say, you have no reason to be mad at me."

"I'm not mad at you."

"Are you—"

"I'm sure," he cuts me off. "I would've loved to have found a dozen women to sleep with me when I was in Europe. Except I was awkward back in college, so I was lucky to have had sex at all."

I laugh. "Well, I probably would've seen through your awkwardness and fallen in love with you. Plus, I didn't sleep with a _dozen_ men. It was like three."

"Three?" Derek asks. "Well your friend is a liar then."

"Yes, Sadie was a liar even back then."

Derek leans forward to grab my hot chocolate from the table, which he hands to me, and then takes his own. He takes a sip and then says, "I hate the news."

"Me too. If you want to know anything about my past, you can just ask."

"I'll remember that in the future." Derek kisses the top of my head.

\\\\\

" _It seems like Meredith's mother is doing much worse than she was in the Fall. Sources close to the Grey family have confirmed that Ellis Grey, who is suffering from early on-set Alzheimer's, will be moved soon to a nursing home since it's no longer safe to have her at home. She's been seen wandering the streets at all hours and those who spend time with Ellis and her husband, Richard, have said that she forgets her husband more often than she remembers him."_

" _This might explain why Meredith Grey has been so distracted lately. Apparently she hasn't performed surgery in a week by request of the Chief of Surgery at Georgetown. I called for a comment from the Chief, Miranda Bailey, but she wouldn't comment."_

" _Seems fishy to me."_

" _Same here. For now, that's all we know and we'll let you know when we have more to report."_

* * *

 **AN: Keep in mind that many of these news outlets in this story (and just in life) are often incorrect, so don't always believe in what you read or hear from the reporters in this story.**


	32. Call

**AN: As always, I am blown away by your responses. Thank you so very much for your kind words! I read all of your messages and they absolutely make my day, so please don't be shy!**

 **A little note on this part, you've probably notice the last few parts have been darker and this one is no different. Once again, Meredith didn't want this life, but she's agreeing to it for Derek. Putting your feelings aside for someone else is incredibly difficult and even someone as strong as Meredith is going to have trouble. So please keep that in mind. Also, I'm bringing back an old story line from the show in a very unsubtle way. You will pick up on it quickly, I assume. Just know, I will be putting my own spin on everything.**

 **Also, for those who asked, baby and I are doing well. I'm rounding out my second trimester now and I'm feeling really great. Thank you for asking!**

 **To those who celebrate, Happy Thanksgiving, and I'll see you all next week!**

* * *

"Another one, please," I say as I slide my empty glass across the bar top.

The bartender picks up my glass and pours me another shot of tequila. I'm about to just dump it, but I'm acutely aware of Toby standing over my left shoulder. I sigh. "Can you please not do that?"

He glances at me for a second before turning back to the room. He scans slowly, probably keeping his eye out for a sniper or maybe someone with a phone pulled out, ready to take pictures. Not like I'm doing anything wrong.

"Do what?" he asks.

"You're like a bird of prey just staring at everyone."

Toby doesn't look at me when he says, "My duty is to protect you."

"Shouldn't you be in Greece with Derek and Grant and everyone else?"

"No. I should be here with you. If you drank at home like I suggested, you wouldn't even notice me right now."

I take the shot and shiver as it run down my throat. "Another," I say to the bartender. I turn to Toby and I notice a lot of people noticing us, which makes me uncomfortable. "If you'd just sit, it wouldn't be so obvious that you're my bodyguard."

"I'm not a bodyguard," he tells me.

"Fine. Sorry. But please sit down."

After another few seconds, Toby sits down next to me, still overlooking the rest of the bar.

"Do you want a drink?" I ask him.

"No. Not while I'm working."

He seems so buttoned-up. "What's going on with you? You're so serious."

Toby shakes his head. "Nothing. I'm fine. When are you friends supposed to be here?"

"They bailed. They're busy."

He looks at me. "So what, you're just drinking alone?"

"I'm not alone. You're with me."

"Doctor Grey—"

"Meredith," I correct him.

"Fine, Meredith, I'm not sure what the President would say if he knew you were out drinking on your own. It doesn't look good."

I roll my eyes. "Please. I'm a grown woman and if I want to have a few drinks after a stressful day, I'll have a few drinks." I count in my head and I've only had three so far. My insides are warm, but my head is totally clear. "If you're so concerned, you can go. I'll happily drink alone."

Toby remains seated next to me.

"So be it," I say and motion for another drink.

\\\\\

My day started fine. I had two patients on the board for afternoon surgeries—very routine, a colectomy and a kidney transplant. Between my two surgeries, I got a page for a consult. Along the way, since the page wasn't 911, I called Derek.

"Have you met any Greek gods yet?" I asked after he said hello.

Derek laughed. "Not yet. I'll take a picture with one when I do."

"You better. How's Greece?"

"Beautiful. Romantic."

"Romantic? With Alan and Grant? That's sweet."

He laughed again. "I should say it _would_ be romantic if you were here."

I wanted to go with Derek and he had offered, but with work slipping lately and all the other obligations that comes with planning a wedding and being the future wife of the President, I just couldn't make it work. Plus, the press is already on my back enough; I didn't want to add fuel to their fire.

"I'll make it to the next trip. I promise."

Derek changed the subject, probably because neither of us is great with keeping our promises. "So how's your day? Fixed anyone today?"

"I have. I just did a colectomy and now I'm off to do a consult. After that, I have a kidney transplant between a mom and her daughter, which will save the daughter's life. I feel like a god today. You should take a picture with me!"

"I might just do that." He paused and then said, "You know, _you_ can take a picture of yourself and send it to me. Maybe a picture with little to no clothes on."

"You want me to send a dirty picture to you?"

He sounded excited. "Yes."

"Hell no."

"Why not?" he asked, sounding genuinely sad.

"Because you're the President and I'm going to see you in five days. You don't need a dirty picture of me. Plus, it'll probably get into the wrong hands."

"I'm the President. No one sees my phone except for me."

"There is no way in hell I will send you any pictures. I have to go."

"Think about it," he said before I hung up.

I ended the call, still smiling despite the fact that my fiancé is a bit of a perv.

I headed to the nurse's station. "I was paged," I told the nurse. Cristina was sitting next to her. I gave her a look. "What are you doing here?"

She ate a chip. "Dying of boredom. Waiting for someone to start dying so I can save them."

"Don't you have surgeries scheduled today?"

"Not for like three hours. I need a good atrial fibrillation. I could put a pace maker in and be out in a few hours. It'll keep me busy." The nurse gave Cristina a look. "Oh don't act like when this ER is slow, that makes you happy. Slow days suck."

The nurse handed me a chart. "Consult on bed four. The patient passed out in the grocery store. She has an abdominal tumor."

"Oh, I'll take that," Cristina leaned forward.

"A stomach is not a heart. Get away from my patient." I took the chart and walked towards the patient's room.

As I approached, I put a smile on my face. "Mrs. Clark?" I asked.

She gave me a smile. "Yes."

"Hi, I'm Doctor Grey. I understand you fainted in the grocery store."

"Two days ago," the man sitting next to the gurney said. "I told her to come sooner. She's never fainted before."

I put on gloves and set down the chart. "Did you hit your head?"

"I would've if my husband hadn't caught me." She gave her husband a smile.

I reached down and felt across her stomach. "I understand from your chart that you're anemic and guaiac-positive, so I believe there's some internal bleeding which is coming from your tumor."

"Her doctor told us the recent biopsy showed that her cancer was back."

I nodded. "It is."

"She said you might be able to take it out," Mrs. Clark said.

I looked back over the chart. The tumor was deep from the looks of the last scans. "There's a chance I won't be able to go in as deeply as I'll need to, but I promise I'll do everything I can." I gave them a reassuring smile. They shared a look. "I'm going to schedule your surgery as soon as possible, so take a moment for each other and I'll have an orderly come by in a few minutes."

"Alright," the husband said.

"Oh, Doctor Grey?" Mrs. Clark asked.

"Yes?"

"Are you the doctor who is dating the President?" From the look on my face, she frowned after asking. "I'm sorry if people are always asking. I just wanted to say you both look very happy when I see pictures of you together."

"Alison," her husband said.

"I'm so sorry if—"

I managed to smile. "There's no need to apologize. Yes, I am dating Derek. And thank you."

She grinned at me.

\\\\\

After surgery, I return a call from Derek. It's never easy when he's out of the country because our timing is off, but I luckily catch him at the end of his day.

"Hi, sorry I missed your call. I had sort of an emergency surgery."

"Is the patient alright?"

"Yeah, she'll be fine. I had to push my other surgery, but I feel bad because she's been waiting so long for a kidney, so I think I might do it now."

"You're not too tired?"

"No. I'm good."

"Good."

"How was the rest of your day?"

"Tiring. I think the jet lag is catching up with me."

"Well I'll let you go then."

"No, no," Derek says quickly. "I can talk."

"I have to go tell my patient's husband that she's okay. He was really anxious about it."

"Alright. Call me tomorrow?"

"I will. Love you."

"You too. Goodnight."

\\\\\

Cristina is sitting at the nurse's station outside Mrs. Clark's room when I walk up to check on her again. Mrs. Clark hasn't woken up yet, but that's typical. Cristina is charting. "How'd it go?" she asks.

"Fine. I got the tumor with clean margins. She should be just fine."

"He looks like he might explode," she says and nods at the husband.

"He's a little high-strung."

A nurse walks into Alison's room and works on the ventilator.

I turn to Cristina. "What are you doing tonight?"

"Why?"

"We should get a drink. It's been forever."

"Don't you have another surgery?"

"After that."

"Are you freaking out because McDreamy is in Greece and can't play with you tonight?"

"No. I want to drink with my friends. I'll invite Alex."

Cristina's pager goes off. "Ooh, 911 to the ER. Might be a surgery." She jumps up and runs towards the ER before giving me an answer, but knowing Cristina, she'll be happily in the hospital for the rest of the night.

Behind me the vent monitor begins beeping wildly.

\\\\\

I walk into Mrs. Clark's room and her husband stands.

"Mr. Clark—"

"Gary. Please call me Gary."

"Gary. I'm sorry, but your wife had a left temporal lobe hemorrhage that extended into the ventricular system. There was nothing more that I could do."

He shakes his head. "She can wake up right?"

"Your wife is in a coma and it's irreversible. Our neurosurgeon did an EEG and she had minimal brain activity."

"There's still hope, right? Because there's activity. And he heart's still beating."

I shake my head. "The mechanical ventilator is breathing for her. When we turn the machine off, her heart won't get the oxygen it needs, and it will stop."

He cuts me a look. "Why would you turn the machine off? She's still alive."

"She's not, Mr. Clark. By definition your wife is dead. I'm very sorry." I don't want to continue with the bad news, but it's my job to. "And, we can't keep her on the ventilator because she signed an advanced directive that specifically requested she not be sustained on a ventilator." He says nothing. "I wish there were more that I could do."

Mr. Clark stands. "No. No, you won't turn off the machines. She's my wife. _My_ wife. I make the decisions here and I know she's going to be fine. She'll be fine."

"Legally, we don't have a choice, sir."

"You said the surgery went fine. That's what you said."

"It did, but—"

"No!" he shouts at me. "You're useless. You're a useless child and you have no business calling yourself a doctor! I want to talk to a real doctor. I am done talking to you!"

Behind me I hear, "Do we have a problem?"

I turn to Doctor Bailey, who clearly heard Mr. Clark yelling.

"Mr. Clark, this is Doctor Bailey. She's our Chief of Surgery." I hand her Alison's chart. "Mr. Clark's wife had a temporal lobe hemorrhage that extended into the ventricular system. I've explained to him that she no longer has brain activity and she signed a directive to not extend care. He…disagrees with me."

Bailey speed reads the chart. "Mr. Clark, I'm deeply sorry for your loss, but—"

"She's not dead! She's still here. She could wake up."

Bailey glances at me. "She's not going to wake up, Mr. Clark. Not with the brain damage she suffered. Mr. Clark, if we don't follow the directive that your wife signed, if we ignore her wishes, her health will deteriorate. She'll lose body mass. She'll have no immune system. She'll require around-the-clock care and it'll become very expensive very quickly."

"I don't care about that," he says while holding his wife's hand to his chin.

"It'll be no life for either of you."

"That's why your wife signed the directive. She didn't want to live her life this way or for you to live your life this way," I tell him.

"Don't you dare speak for my wife!"

Bailey gives me another look. "Mr. Clark, we have to obey your wife's wishes."

"If you unplug her, you'll be killing her."

After a second, Bailey says, "I'm sorry. We can give you enough time to call your family and let people pay their respects, but after that—"

"We don't have family. She is all I have and I'm all she has."

I get choked up.

Bailey glances at me again. "Grey," she says quietly, "you can go."

I take a step back. "Mr. Clark, I'm sor—"

"You killed her," he whispers and I leave the room.

\\\\\

I can't count my drinks any longer. "Eight. Maybe nine." I'm staring at my fingers trying to count.

"Eleven," Toby tells me. "So are you ready to go now?"

"Eleven," I repeat and it sounds weird coming from me. I say it again, really drawing out the word.

Toby stands. "Come on. Let's go." He pulls out his wallet to pay and I know I should be paying, but I honestly don't think I even have any money.

We walk outside and the air is cool. I realize I left my jacket at work. Toby puts me into the backseat of his car. I roll my head back against the seat. I feel sleepy. Toby rolls the back window down some and it feels really nice on my face. I close my eyes.

"I'm going to take you to the White House, if that's okay."

"Fine," I say and wave my hand in the air. "I basically live there now. That's what all the news people keep saying. As if it's a bad thing. I live with my fiancé. What's bad about that?"

"Ignore the media, Doctor Grey. They're always wrong."

I sigh. " _Please_ call me Meredith. I hate that no one ever calls me Meredith anymore."

"I'm sorry. Meredith. Of course."

I smile. "My life is so different than it was a year ago. More. Before I met Derek. I was just a doctor then. That was my only focus. Medicine. Healing. Cutting. Switch those two. I had my friends and my house and a really badass job. I owned that operating room. All operating rooms. I was focused. Focused like Cristina. She's a machine. I used to be like that, but not anymore. Not since I met Derek."

"Meredith, maybe we shouldn't talk about—"

"I'm a really good doctor, Matt. I mean, I saved the President. Shit doctors don't save presidents. But no one even pays attention to that anymore. All people can talk about is how I'm never at the White House enough for events, but I'm also not at the hospital enough to save people. I don't want to be the First Lady, so I'm essentially an evil feminist. I don't support Derek. I take too many trips with him; I don't take enough. I can't win. I try and try and try, but I can't win.

"And Derek. He's amazing. I mean really great, but he doesn't get it. He makes me feel bad because I can't just head off to Greece with him. He doesn't ask about my mom because he clearly doesn't want to know. He's busy. I know he's busy, but this doesn't feel like a relationship. It feels like we're both working so hard—too hard—for what? For another three or seven years of fighting for time alone? Fighting to legitimize our relationship? I'm tired, Matt. I'm really fucking tired."

After my tirade, the car is quiet. I expect Toby's ignoring everything I just said. It was about his boss, after all, so I know why he'd ignore me. But then, after a few minutes, he says, "I can't imagine how difficult the last year has been. From my point of view, you've been amazing, but the media doesn't see that or they don't care. They don't know you.

"As for the President, he's a busy man. He's distracted and I'm sure that's difficult—"

"You don't have to," I interrupt.

"I know." We stop at a red light. "Meredith, just tell him what's wrong. Tell him how you feel. He should know that you're having a hard time."

I nod. Toby's right. "I want to tell him, but I'm afraid he won't pick me."

"He'll pick you. He'd be crazy not to."

I'm not sure I believe that.

\\\\\

I'm woken up the next morning to my phone ringing and the sound is awful. I can't remember leaving the car, or walking into my house, or going to bed. I can't remember much at all after we left the bar. I run my hand over my face and hope I didn't puke in the back of Toby's car. I don't remember puking, but maybe it happened. I sit up, looking for my phone, and I realize I'm in Derek's bedroom, which feels much bigger when he's not around.

I find my phone charging on the bedside table. There's no way I managed that, so I'm sure Toby put me to bed. I'm still in the clothes from last night.

I unplug my phone.

 _Derek_ , the screen says.

I lay back down. "Hello?"

He laughs. "Toby told me you'd be hungover."

I slide down further in the bed. "Yes."

"Are you okay?"

When he asks, I feel a pain in my chest. I know he means with the hangover, but for some reason, I think about everything else. I am not fine. I'm so far from fine. I want to unload on Derek and tell him everything that's bothering me, but he's busy and I know he doesn't have the time right now. When he gets back, I'll tell him.

For now, I say, "I'm good. Just need water and more sleep."

"Well, take the day so you feel better. And I'll be home in four days to take care of you."

"My hangover will be over by then."

"I'm sure we'll figure out other ways for me to take care of you." He's flirting.

I should flirt back. "I have to go."

"Okay. I'll call later."

"Bye." I end the call.


	33. Good

**AN: You're the best readers and reviewers around. Thank you for all the support! I love hearing what you have to say, especially from silent readers who have just been compelled to comment. So nice! Everyone seemed to have something to say about the Gary Clark story line, but everything I read was really nice. I hope I do you proud in the coming chapters.**

 **This is coming out a day early because you've been the best. Plus, inspiration struck and I just kept writing. I'm actually very proud of this part and I hope you like it. I have mapped out a rough outline for the rest of this story and it looks like we're going to be ending around chapter 40. As we get closer to that chapter, I'll keep you posted.**

 **As always, enjoy!**

* * *

My parents' house feels like a dungeon. The shades are drawn downstairs and the house is cold. The door handle is covered in a plastic child-proof locking mechanism, which I'm guessing is enough to keep my mother in when she's no longer herself. I walk into the kitchen to put the groceries I bought in the fridge and I notice the knife block is empty and all the cabinets also have locks on them. Even the refrigerator is guarded with a lock.

From upstairs, I hear music playing. I lay my jacket over the banister and leave my shoes by the door.

For the last few weeks, I've been trying to visit my mom as much as possible, although some days it's harder than others. For instance, on Tuesday of last week, my mom was Ellis Grey the whole time I visited with her. We discussed work and the trial. She asked about Derek and the wedding plans. She never once seemed confused. But then on Wednesday, I had more time to visit, but within just minutes of arriving, my mom thought I was sixteen again and was yelling at me for running around with Tommy Winters, my first high school boyfriend. I tried to stay and tried to support her, but she was so angry with me. Well, not _me_ , but my younger self. Richard suggested I leave and I gladly obliged.

I know I should show up and visit no matter my mother's mental state, but now I do call before I arrive and during my call this morning, Richard said my mom was doing well.

At the top of the stairs, I take a left and then another left into my mother's office. She hasn't been doing a lot of work as of late, but music has been especially helpful for her to remain herself, so she's been sitting by the turn table listening to music from her youth. She's just flipping a record over when I knock on the door frame.

"Oh Meredith," she says with a big smile on her face. "Good. I was hoping to see you today."

I glance around the study. "Where's Dad?" I ask.

"Out back chopping wood."

I walk further into the room and sit down across from her. "Since when does he chop wood?"

"He's a mountain man now, apparently. It's your fiance's fault."

"Derek? What did he do?"

"Oh him and Richard were talking last week and Derek mentioned how he wanted to go camping with him at some point, as if Richard camps. Derek started talking about how relaxing the fishing and chopping wood are and how much he misses it now that he's in the city. Richard loved the idea and since he can't really go camping right now, he decided to start chopping wood. And apparently he and Derek are going fishing once he's back from Greece. How is Derek, by the way?"

I glance down at my engagement ring. I hardly wear it, but I like wearing it for my mom in case it helps ground her. "Good. Busy. He's really liking Greece."

My mom readjusts a pillow behind her back, helping her prop up more. She still looks like my mother, but the last few months have seemed to age her quickly. "And how are the wedding plans coming? Are you still working with that wedding planner?"

"Sarah, yes. She's good. She makes most the decisions, which I love."

"Don't you want a say in things?" she asks.

"Not really. If I had my say in things, we'd be eloping. I'm all for getting married, but I think the wedding and all that is a bit much. It's all for Derek, really."

My mom laughs. "And all of America. Don't think for a second the White House or media would let you get away with eloping. Your wedding will make everyone millions of dollars."

"Can we not talk about the media?"

My mom stops smiling. She nods, rather seriously. "Of course. I know it's been tough."

"It has," I say with a pretty dramatic sigh. "Anyway, enough about me. How are you?"

She nods. "Pretty good, although I don't believe Richard when he tells me it's been blank amount of days since my last incident. He told me it's been over a week, but just yesterday I feel like I missed a whole chunk of time. It doesn't help that most of my time is spent doing not much of anything. Time seems to move slower or disappear all together with nothing to do all day."

"You should get a hobby."

"Like what? Knitting?" She shakes her head.

"It's good for surgical dexterity."

My mom's face turns cold. "I don't need surgical dexterity because I'm not a surgeon."

"I know you're not currently a surgeon, but that doesn't mean you should let your talents just slip away."

"Why not, Meredith? Why shouldn't I? I will never operate on anyone ever again. I won't stand over and OR table and ask for a ten blade. I won't diagnose a patient. I won't save anyone's life. I'm not a surgeon and I'm not someone who has hobbies. I don't need to knit or play the piano or join a book club. I'm happy to just do this." She motions to her turn table.

The room falls silent. I watch my mother's face as it falls. She looks away from me. "I'm sorry," I tell her. "I didn't mean anything by it. I just meant, if you're bored, there's still things you can do. I know right now it seems really hard, but you can still write. You should work on that book you were writing. Or, if you want, maybe come work in the lab with me a few times a week. After all, it's still your trial. Or maybe sit in the gallery and watch surgeries. Maybe it'll feel bad at first, since you can't cut, but at least you'll still be in the atmosphere you love."

My mom stays quiet for another minute before saying, "You have no reason to be sorry, Meredith." She looks up at me. "And I shouldn't be taking this out on you. None of it is your fault."

"I know, but if it makes you feel better-"

"Don't worry about making me feel better. It's moot, at this point." She sighs and stands. "Do you want tea? I can't drink coffee anymore because of all the meds I'm on, but I can still drink tea." She walks over to a Keurig across the room. "Tea?" she asks.

I nod. "Sure."

I watch my mom setting up two mugs and two pods for our tea. She still has surgeon's hands, working deftly and precisely, even if she's just pushing a few buttons. She hovers over the machine while it makes one cup, which she hands to me, and then hovers for the second. We're both silent during that time, just letting Billie Holiday do the talking for us.

When my mom sits back down, she looks serious again. "We should talk about the future while we still can."

Richard told me my mom has been facing her own mortality head on lately, but I haven't yet seen it. Until now, of course. "Do we have to talk about it today?"

I hold the mug of tea in my hands, not even noticing how hot the porcelain has grown.

"We should. While I can. Not everyone gets this chance."

"I know," I say, looking down into my mug.

"I just want you to be prepared. I don't want anything to catch you off guard."

"Everything is catching my off guard lately."

"Which is exactly why we should discuss it. Well, not discuss it since I've already made plans."

I look at my mom. "Plans for what?"

"Everything. Richard and our lawyers have looked over the paperwork, but I wanted to fill you in." She takes a moment and then continues, "I've decided to donate my body to science. It just makes sense. I worked on cadavers in school, as did you. And Richard. We know human tissue is the best way to learn, especially about something like Alzheimer's. No one will learn without human specimens." I don't argue with my mom because it does make sense. "As for the funeral," she continues, and I swallow hard, "I don't want one. No funeral. No wake. Nothing. Donate my body and move on."

"What about somewhere to visit. Like a grave?" I feel sick even saying the word in association with my mom.

"We don't need to be sentimental, Meredith. You don't need a place to visit my body."

I wipe at my cheek, where a tear had been rolling down. "I wasn't aware I was being sentimental."

My mom hands me a tissue without saying anything about it. "You don't need a grave or headstone or plaque to remember me by. I'm very lucky. I'm leaving a legacy behind. Every time you use the Grey Method, you'll think of me. When you finish my work and publish it, you'll think of me. I don't need an article in the local paper or a hole in the ground for people to remember me by. I know you'll remember me just fine."

I can't keep talking about graves. "Is that all you wanted to talk about?" I'm hoping the answer is yes.

"No, actually, I also wanted to talk about my will."

"Mom..." I sigh.

"This house is for Richard. We both own it, of course, so there's no reason he shouldn't live here. But he doesn't need my money. He's wealthy enough to pay for three more lifetimes, so he doesn't need financial support from me."

"If you're about to suggest I need financial help..."

"I'm not. You're also financially stable and soon you'll have Derek. Just looking at the pictures of his house in Maine tells me he is doing just fine. I don't want to leave either of you money. I want to donate all of it to Georgetown. I want the money to go towards better machinery. More nurses. A broader internship program. Maybe even a free clinic. I don't care how the money is allocated, just that it goes back into the hospital."

I take a sip of tea to distract me from the ball of emotion blooming in my chest. When I swallow, I notice my mom is staring at me, probably waiting for some kind of acknowledgment. "I think that's a very good idea."

She nods. "Good. I won't be leaving you empty-handed; I just figured money is insignificant."

"You don't have to leave me anything, Mom."

"Of course I do. You're my only daughter." She sets down her tea. "Anyway, that's all the business I wanted to talk to you about."

I'm feeling relieved it's over. "Good."

I must sound as relieved as I feel. "Don't make it sound like that was torturous. I kept the conversation short. The one with Richard and the lawyers was hours."

"You're right. Five minutes is better than hours."

"The one last thing I'll say," she begins and I tense up again. "I know choosing a date in June is earlier than you and Derek planned. I know you did that for me." I don't deny it. "I'm going to try really hard to be there for you two. But if I can't be, I want you to know I'm happy for you, Meredith. You've turned into an extraordinary woman. The last year has been challenging for you, what with my health, the job, Derek and his job, but you've overcome. You're overcoming and I am so proud of you."

With fresh tears in my eyes and emotion stuck in my throat I say, "Thanks Mom."

I don't have the heart to tell her I'm not overcoming; I'm hanging onto the ledge of a cliff by my bloody fingertips. I keep telling myself to hold out until the wedding. After the wedding, everything will calm down. Everything will get better. So I just smile instead of telling her my worries.

\\\\\

When I get home, I'm surprised to see Grant on my front porch.

"Hey, aren't you supposed to be in Greece?"

"The President was able to come home early. He hasn't even been to the White House yet. He wanted to see you."

I smile. "Is he inside?"

"Yes. Talking to Alex, I believe."

"Thanks Grant. It's good to see you."

"You, too, Doctor Grey."

The ice has thawed between us since my outburst at the New Year's Eve party. Or maybe there never was ice. Derek told me the next morning that Grant wasn't mad. Grant doesn't know how to get mad, but I wasn't so sure. He seemed more quiet than usual when it came to me, but maybe I was being sensitive. Either way, everything seems to be in normal working order with us.

I walk inside and immediately hear Alex and Derek talking in the living room.

"No, mine wasn't a chopper. It was a Bonneville. So clean. I could hit a hundred on that thing and it felt like you were flying."

"A Bonneville? No way. A Daytona is way cleaner. Mine could get to one-twenty easy."

"I'm calling bullshit on that," Derek says.

I walk into the living room. "Motorcycles?" I ask.

Derek beams at me and stands. "Who knew I was engaged to such a brain?" He wraps his arm around my waist and kisses me soundly.

"I'm telling you, you have to try a Daytona," Alex says, breaking the moment Derek and I were having.

"Do you honestly think the seated President can take a motorcycle out for a spin?" I ask Alex.

He shrugs. "Why not? That big ass plane you have is probably less safe than any motorcycle in the world."

I touch the scar on Derek's forehead. "I think this scar proves motorcycles are less safe than planes. Have you ever been in a plane crash?" I ask Derek.

"No."

"Exactly. Plus, I'd kill you if you go on a motorcycle again." I wrap my arm around Derek's back and grin at him.

"Yes, ma'am." He leans down and kisses me again.

Alex turns the volume on the TV back on. "Come find me if you want to see what a real motorcycle can do," Alex says.

Derek turns to Alex. "Bullshit. Daytona's suck."

Alex opens his mouth to talk and I interrupt both of them. "Derek," I say very seriously. I lean into his ear. "You've been gone for over a week. I have been planning our stupid wedding without you for _over a week_. I am tense and extra horny. Do you want to keep talking motorcycles with Derek, or do you want to take me upstairs?"

"See you later, Alex!" Derek says over his shoulder as he practically drags me upstairs.

Afterwards, Derek and I lay entangled in one another. My head is rested on his chest and his arm hangs loosely around my waist. Derek's legs are wrapped in mine and I slowly slide my toes up and down his ankle. He kisses the top of my head. I close my eyes. "How was Greece? Besides being romantic for you, Grant, and Alan."

He pinches my side and I make a small screeching sound. "It _would've_ been romantic if you were there. We should go there on our honeymoon."

"I thought we decided Camp David for a week or maybe Montana. Something understated."

"I decided on my trip I don't want understated."

I pull back so I can look up at his face. "For just the honeymoon, or..."

"For any of it. Us getting married is a big deal. We should treat it like a big deal. All the bells. All the whistles. Dancing elephants, if you want. A skywriter. Truffles from the deepest and darkest German forests. Desserts from Japan. Hell, moon rock centerpieces. We should go big."

"Dancing elephants?" I ask.

"If you want them."

"If you think I want any of that, then you're crazy."

He nods. "Okay, maybe none of that, but we should do it right. Wear the big poofy dress. I'll wear tails. We'll have Gordon Ramsey cater."

"I think Gordon Ramsey is strictly against catering."

"Fine, Bobby Flay. We could eat just lots and lots of meat. Steak and ribs. It'll be delicious."

"Have you been watching a lot of food competitions?"

Derek looks pained in saying, "So many! I couldn't understand any channels in Greece except for the food channel. I've been watching cooking shows for days now. I can officially tell you fifteen ways to prepare potatoes and another ten for handling meat with care. I've been so bored at night without you."

"Pathetic."

"Yes. I admit it."

I lay my head back into his chest. I absentmindedly run my fingers over his shooting scar. "I'm happy to wear white," I consent, mostly because I don't care. "But I don't want a big thing. I know it has to be a real wedding, but I'd rather keep it like it is. Small, understated."

"But we're only going to get married once. This is our shot to do something extraordinary."

"We're already extraordinary. Do we need a ten course meal to drive the point home?"

"We don't _need_ anything, but I'd like something big. Something that would make a splash."

I pull back again so I can meet Derek's eyes. "But it was your idea to keep things understated. One week in Greece and you're changing our whole wedding?"

"I'm not changing it, just adding to it. And expanding the guest list. I think I should open it up for our foreign friends."

"What foreign friends?"

"World leaders. Their families. Make it an international event."

I'm now sitting up. "What? Derek, no."

He sits up as well. "Why not? We have a wedding planner to get everything done, and since it's at the White House, we can do whatever we want. For us, it's just about greeting a few more people, but really everything will stay the same. Same dress, me with tails. You can still have Cristina as your maid of honor and my friend Mark will be my best man. We'll keep that part small and the dinner will be basically the same. Five courses plus dessert. You won't have to do anything more."

"But I will," I say quickly before he continues. "I have been meeting with Sarah for hours every day making sure everything is getting done. Just adding, what hundreds, of people doesn't make any part of my duties easier."

"Well I'll give you a break. I'll work with Sarah on it."

"You're the President and you've been out of the country. You can't just take a week to wedding plan."

Derek shrugs. "Why not? You're a surgeon and you've taken time to wedding plan. I can swing it."

"Really?"

"Of course."

He seems to proud of himself. I can't tell him I hate the idea of some gigantic global affair. It's just one day in what's soon-to-be a lifetime together. I can suck it up for one day. I reach out and take one of Derek's hands. "Fine, but I'm not wearing gloves or a veil. Promise me."

"I promise." He leans in and kisses me.

"Does my dress have to be poofy?"

He laughs. "No, just white."

"Fine. But if you wear tails, I'm not showing up." I lay back down.

"What's wrong with tails?"

"I'll feel like some 1800s bride. Like my dad married me to you with the promise of two cows, three pigs, and seven-hundred a year as my dowry."

Derek leans over me, his face inches from mine. "That sounds like a pretty sweet dowry. When my mom married my dad, she only brought a chicken and a dog with a limp."

"Please don't talk about your parents while we're naked."

"Why?" he laughs.

"Because, they can hear we're naked."

Derek bursts out laughing. "My mom is hundreds of miles away in Maine."

"She can still hear."

"My dad is dead."

"He can _definitely_ hear."

Derek leans down to kiss me. "You're absolutely crazy."

I hold his face so he doesn't move too far from me. "But you love me, right?"

Derek grins slowly. "I do. A lot."

I run my fingers through his hair. "Good."


	34. Up

**AN: I'm not going to do much of an AN right now, but I am going to have one after this chapter. I want to say thank you all for the incredible responses from the last part. I am sad to be nearing the end of this story, but so blown away by the kindness you've all shown me. And believe me, I'm reading your cries for a sequel, but to be honest, I don't know what story I'd need to tell in a sequel.**

 **For now, here's the chapter.**

* * *

I'm doing my fiancé's job, despite the fact that he promised me he'd take care of the additional hundreds of people he's inviting to our wedding. I knew this was going to happen, but I hoped it wouldn't. It's my day off and I'm trying to figure out what table to put international dignitaries, who are from countries I've never even heard of before.

"Where should the President of Kiribati and his wife go?" Sarah asks, ever patient. She hands me the small post-it note with their names written in neat print.

"Kiribati? Where the hell is that?" I've asked this question as least a dozen times, but with a different nation each time.

Sarah shrugs. "Maybe it's somewhere near Balochistan or Degar."

I look down at the seating chart. My family, Derek's family, and our friends were easy to place. We chose traditionally with their tables; each family has their own table and our friends are sitting together. The White House staff was also easy to place. Even the members of Congress and their families who were invited were easy to place; I kept families together and political parties together.

But putting a seating chart together for countries that I'm never quite sure where they stand with one another—now that's impossible. Which I voice again, for the upteempth time, "I can't place any of them. Derek has to do it."

Sarah looks uncomfortable. "I'm sorry, Doctor Grey, but we need this done today at the very latest."

"Why? We have almost two months."

"The invitations need to go out today and we need to fit everyone in before we send invitations."

"Why can't we just put everyone down in a seat for now and change it later?"

"We could do that, but if we run into trouble with one country feuding with another and we can't place that one country, we might have to cut someone. And we won't know who to cut until we put together a seating chart." She looks apologetic. "I'm sorry, but it has to be today."

I stare down at all the post-its we still haven't done—dozens and dozens—and I feel totally discouraged. "I can't do this. It has to be Derek."

Sarah nods. "Yes, but, he's in meetings all day."

"I am going to kill him."

The door to the conference room opens and Sarah stands as Derek walks through the door. I don't stand for Derek when we're just us in the White House. I do stand in formal situations because it seems like I'm supposed to. Although, no one has ever explicitly told me I should stand for him.

Derek smiles at me. "Hey, how's it going?"

"Not good," I tell him honestly.

He leans down and kisses the top of my head. "I'm sorry I left you with the seating chart," he says to me and then to Sarah, "Thank you for coming today. I know we hadn't had it on the schedule."

"You're my only client, sir, so I'm happy to be here when you need me."

I practically glare at Sarah. She's nice and she does a great job, but I'm currently mad at Derek and she shouldn't be so nice to him. I know I'm being irrational, but it's still there.

I hand Derek the Kiribati note. "You have to do this. I can't."

Derek reads the note. "Well, I wouldn't put them with anyone from the United Kingdom. Still some bad blood there. I'd say any UN member would be safe. President Mamau and his wife are very low-key. I think it's the warm air at the equator." He smiles at me, as if he's being cute or funny.

I take the note from his hand and write "UN-ok/UK-bad" on the back. "I need you to do the rest of these."

"And we need this done today," Sarah chimes in.

"Oh, well, I'm about to go into another meeting. I'm not sure how long it'll be."

I shake my head. "No, that's not going to work for me. I have no idea where any of these places are. Where the hell is Kiribati?"

"South of Hawaii."

I glare at him.

Derek raises his hands in surrender. "You weren't actually asking, okay. I really wish I could help, but—"

"No," I interrupt him. "You're the one who wants a big wedding, not me. You're the one who wants to invite international dignitaries. Not me. I have no idea who any of these people are and who hates whom. Until an hour ago, I thought China and Taiwan were totally cool."

"No, they're not. China believes…" he trails off. "Once again, you don't actually want to know."

I sigh. "No. I want my fiancé to do what he _promised_ he would do."

"I have a country to run," he says simply.

"Exactly. So why don't we just go back to how the wedding was before? Family, friends, your staff, and Congress. That's it. I can handle that." I point to the chart. "I already figured that guest list out."

Derek looks down at my chart. When he glances back at me, I know he's going to say no. With a sigh, he begins, "I know this is overwhelming, but just do your best. I can send Alan in to help you. He knows these countries and their current standings with other countries. He'd be great at this."

"Don't you need him in your meeting?" I ask, a little skeptical of any meeting where Derek doesn't need his Chief of Staff. It's rare that he even blows his nose without Alan knowing first.

Derek shakes his head. "Not at all. I'll send him in."

"I'm still mad at you. You told me you'd do this."

Derek leans down to kiss me. "I love you," he says before kissing me.

Even with Sarah in the room, I pull him a little closer as we kiss, stepping the kiss up a notch. As Derek pulls away, he grins at me and then leans in to whisper into my ear: "I can't _wait_ to have you in my bed later."

A shiver runs down my spine.

Derek takes a step backwards, turns, and walks towards the door. I lean back in my chair.

When I glance at Sarah, she's giving me a goofy smile.

I roll my eyes. "Alright, let's get back to it. So, where's our UN table?"

\\\\\

Tonight, Derek is hosting a State Dinner for the First Minister of Northern Ireland and her husband. I haven't attended a State Dinner in a few months, so I'm actually excited. The dress I'm wearing, black with tons of beads, is a little tight and not so comfortable, but I have been told I look beautiful countless times from Derek and that makes me feel a little bit better.

Speaking of Derek, he's across the room speaking with the First Minister. I met her earlier and she was very nice. She congratulated Derek and I on our engagement and wished us a smooth wedding and transition going from fiancés with pretty separate lives to a married couple living together beneath the careful eye of the American people. After that, they began talking politics and I smoothly excused myself.

One of the waiters asks if I'd like anything and I order a glass of red wine. I notice Grant standing along the wall, keeping an eye on the room, and not wanting to meet anyone new, I walk over to him.

"Hi Grant."

He barely looks at me. "Doctor Grey."

"Big crowd," I tell him.

Grant glances at me. "It's a big night."

I nod and look around the room. There's an awkward silence.

I feel like I should walk away. Grant has a job to do and I'm interrupting, but I feel silly excusing myself now. I'm the one who came over to him. It would be so pathetic. It would—

"How's your mom?" he asks.

My mom is a touchy subject for everyone lately, especially since my last big dinner was back when Derek and I announced our engagement. It's crazy to this it's almost been three months since I've attended a White House dinner. However, Derek has been traveling a lot.

I realize Grant isn't just asking to ask. He never does anything for the sake of just doing something.

"She's okay. Most days," I qualify.

"Does Richard have any long term plans?"

I look over a Grant. "For what?"

"The level of care she'll need in the future?" he asks.

Richard and I don't talk much about the long term. I think neither of us wants to face what putting my mom in a home would mean. I know they're still visiting the specialist who diagnosed my mother, and that doctor says she could remain mostly functioning for almost a year, but those diagnoses are always a shot in the dark. I think Richard, especially, doesn't want to look past tomorrow. For now, it feels like my wedding is a big marker. After that, we'll reassess.

But I don't tell Grant all this. He doesn't need to know. "We're weighing our options. My mom is making plans while she still can," I say, which is mostly the truth. I know my mom has a big say in the conversations she and Richard have been having.

"I'm sorry you're dealing with all this while planning to marry the President. You must be stressed."

"I'm not," I lie, almost too quickly.

Grant is full-on looking at me now. "Did you know I've trained with the best CIA operatives and FBI agents?" he says, which seems a little braggy for Grant and a little out of left field.

"No, I didn't."

"Well I did," he says while still looking at me before turning away. "I know when someone is lying."

I glance at him. "I'm not lying," I lie.

The corners of his mouth turn up a little. "Alright fine, you're not lying." For a second I think that's the end of the conversation before Grant says, "But if you are lying, I just want to tell you that you should be open with the President. Tell him if you're overwhelmed. Don't hide what you're feeling."

"Why do you think I'm not telling him how I'm feeling?"

"Because," he begins simply, "I've known you for over a year now and you've never been anyone who backs down, especially when it comes to him. Even in the hospital you were laying down the law. But the last few weeks, you seem like you're bending to what you think is expected of you."

"I'm not," I say quickly.

Grant nods. "Maybe I'm wrong. But if I'm not, the Meredith Grey I met a year ago never would've agreed to making seating charts or expanding her wedding to include hundreds of more guests."

I'm now facing Grant and I'm growing angry. "None of this has anything to do with you," I say coolly.

"No, it doesn't. You're right."

"Okay, so why are you bringing any of this up?"

"Because I like you and Derek loves you," he says and I know he's not Grant right now. He's Tom—Derek's good friend who stepped up when Derek needed someone around who would make him feel safe. He's Tom—the guy Derek would drink with in college. "But," he continues, "I'm afraid you're allowing this world to change you and eventually it's going to explode in your face. Maybe it'll be a year from now, or tomorrow, or the day you realize you're going to be the First Lady even if you don't want to. Either way, I don't want him to get hurt and I don't want you to get hurt."

The waiter returns with my glass of wine, which I take and swallow a big sip. As the wine slides down my throat and warms me, I say to Grant, "I understand you're concerned and I'm sure you see more than anyone knows." He simply nods. "But I haven't changed. I'm still calling the shots here."

Grant turns to me and asks, "Are you?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Then I'm sorry. I'm not trying to pry."

"But you are."

He nods. "I'm just trying to look out for you _both_." He says the last part with a nod, as if to remind me that yes, he's on Derek's payroll, but he also cares about both of us.

"I'm fine. We're doing fine."

Grant gives me one last nod. "Okay." He sounds convinced, but I'm not sure he is convinced.

"I should…" I motion to the crowd.

"You should," he agrees.

I know I should find Derek, but he looks busy and I'm supposed to be socializing, so as I walk past a table where one woman sits by herself, I give her a kind smile. I'm still thinking about my conversation with Grant, so my mind is all over the place and maybe talking to a stranger will help me to focus on something else. The woman returns my smile.

I pause at the chair beside her. "I'm Meredith," I say and hold out my hand.

She looks a little shocked. "I'm Makenna. Would you like to sit?"

"Sure. Interesting name," I say as I sit down.

"Well, my mom was a big _Somewhere in Time_ fan and named me after Mckenna. Although she spelled my name wrong on the birth certificate, so mine is with an 'a' instead of a 'c.'"

"Really? Did you ever think about changing it?"

Makenna shakes her head. "No. I think it makes me unique."

"It's definitely a good story. I'm sorry for not knowing because I should, but how are you related to all of this?" I motion to the room. I've tried to get better at knowing the people on the guest list, but when five hundred strangers are invited, it's hard to pick people from the crowd.

"I'm a reporter."

Immediately I find myself drawing away because the media has not been kind to me.

Makenna must notice. "I'm not reporting tonight," she says. "Just here as a guest. A friend invited me."

Even so, I find myself sliding away from her. "Well, it was nice meeting you. I hope you enjoy the party."

"Wait, Doctor Grey," she says and places her hand on my arm. "Can I just ask you one thing? Off the record, of course," she says.

"I shouldn't."

"I know." She gives me a smile. "It's awful that I'm even asking, but I'm just curious about something."

The rational part of myself tells me to just leave, but I'm curious. "Okay," I prompt.

Makenna's eyes shift to Grant. I glance at him, following her gaze. As I'm looking at Grant she asks, "When did you and the head of the President's Secret Service first sleep together."

I've never turned my head so fast in my life. "What?"

"I was watching you two have a pretty heated discussion before. You looked like you were in a lovers' quarrel. I just put two and two together."

"Me and Grant?" I ask.

She nods. "Am I wrong?"

"Yes!" I say a little too loudly. A few people at the next table glance over at us.

"Hmm." Makenna shrugs. "I find that hard to believe. I know the two of you spend a lot of time together."

"I don't spend any time with Grant," I correct her. "He's not even my agent. I only see him at functions like this and when Derek is working."

Makenna shrugs again. "Well, you both have major chemistry. I just thought it you wanted to get it off your chest and tell someone, I'd be happy to be that person."

I look Makenna squarely in the eye and I see the wolf in sheep's clothing. I don't know who she came with, but it seems like she planned for a moment like this. Even if it weren't Grant, it would be some other man. If it wasn't an accusation about me cheating, she'd rehash the incorrectly stated "slut" phase I had in Europe. She's a shark and I'm very clearly the minnow.

So I say, "You're vapid."

Her eyebrows shoot up. "Harsh words, Meredith."

"You need to leave."

I stand.

Makenna stands. "Fine then. Have a nice night and happy wedding to you."

I am angry and I feel like I might cry because sometimes I cry when I get angry. But I look across the room and I catch Derek's eye. It's like he can tell something is wrong with me. He gives me a look and I wish there weren't hundreds of people here. I just want to tell him everything, but the downside to dating the President is I don't get him when I need him. I just shake my head. He keeps staring at me. I mouth 'later' to him, wishing it could be later now.

\\\\\

Derek has to spend more time saying goodbye to guests than I do, so I'm stripped down to my pajamas with no makeup on, sitting on the edge of the bed when he walks in. I'm rubbing lotion on my elbows and give Derek a small smile. He sighs, "I've been worried about you all night." He loosens his tie. "What happened earlier?"

With hours between my run-in with the reporter and my conversation with Grant, I'm realizing the reporter part isn't so important anymore. I didn't say anything incriminating and she did say the question was off the record, so I don't care. But the conversation with Grant has gotten under my skin.

"Am I going to be the First Lady?" I ask Derek as he kicks off his shoes.

He sits down on one of the two wing-backed chairs in front of the fire. He looks at me. "Why are you asking?"

I tuck my legs under myself on the bed. "I was talking to Grant, and—"

"Grant?" he questions and I wonder if I shouldn't have said anything about Grant's involvement.

"Yeah."

"What did he say? What were you talking about?"

I feel like I should backtrack, but I don't think I can. "Am I going to be the First Lady?" I ask again, just deciding to ignore the whole Grant part.

Derek looks away from me. He glances out the tall windows overlooking the South Lawn. "There are obligations that come with marrying me and one of those is the role of the First Lady." I wait for him to say more, or say anything, really, but he says nothing else.

"Okay, but you told me I didn't need to be your First Lady."

"I know I said that…" he trails off.

I try to lean over so I meet Derek's eyes. "And?"

He finally turns to me and says, "It's not like a really have a choice, Meredith."

I think my heart stops for a second. "What are saying?"

"There are rules and traditions that come with the Presidency and already I've broken dozens of them. For one, being unmarried and then dating while running the country. I've made a lot of allowances and at some point I need to look back on tradition."

"I'm sorry, but what are you trying to say without saying? Are you telling me that I need to take on that role? Because if you are, Derek—"

"Yes," he interrupts. "I was going to talk to you about it."

All the blood in my body seemingly rushes to my face. "Are you kidding me?"

He looks tired. "I know you're not happy about this, but if I want another four years—"

"You told me none of this was about another four years."

"Of course it's about another four years," he says exasperated. "If I serve only four years, I'll go down in history as a failure."

"When were you going to tell me?"

"Soon," he says. "I was trying to figure everything out the other day—"

"With Grant?" I ask.

Derek gives me a look. "No, with Alan, but Grant was there."

"Do you know what this means?"

He stands and walks towards the bed. "I know it'll disrupt your life a little in the beginning, but I'm looking to hire a team to help you transition into the role. You won't be thrown right into the mix and be expected to hold the position. It'll be like training." He gives me a little smile, as if everything is okay.

"Derek, becoming First Lady won't just disrupt my life a little. It'll mean I can't be a doctor any longer."

"No, not really."

"Not really?" I ask.

"You'll have to cut down your hours, but Alan and I worked it out that you could work about twenty-five hours a week. Three days. I know it's not ideal—"

I stand up from the bed because I don't feel like I can sit any longer. "I went to Dartmouth to get a medical degree. I have a doctorate. I worked my _ass_ off for eight years in college and med school to gain my degree, but that was the easy part. I had an internship and then a residency. The last six years I have worked and scraped by and went days without sleeping, just living and breathing my career. I've saved hundreds of lives and changed thousands of lives by operating. I saved your life," I say. "I have worked and worked and worked to become relevant in my career and just now, after years of blood, sweat, and tears, I am finally the kind of surgeon I've always wanted to be. Everything I've given up has paid off because I'm an excellent surgeon. And you want me to work three days a week? After all this effort, do you really believe three days a week is enough?"

Derek sighs. "I asked for more, but it just wouldn't work with the time you'll need to dedicate to being the First Lady."

"I can't believe we're discussing this. You knew I said no from the beginning."

"I thought you'd change your mind."

"Well I haven't and I won't."

"Meredith…" he says with no follow up.

I shrug. "Are you really so surprised I'm telling you no?"

"We're a partnership. We're supposed to be a team."

"Does this feel like what a team does? Make decisions for the other members?"

"I'm not making this decision. It's something we have to do. I figured you would've realized it was inevitable."

I shake my head. "I didn't, obviously. If I had known, I wouldn't have…" I stop myself before I say something horrible, like I wouldn't have said yes to his proposal.

Derek catches what I was going to say. "So, this is a deal breaker?"

I don't want to say yes, but I can't say no. "I love you, but I've been so supportive of your career. Bending and changing to fit into what this _White House_ needs, but it doesn't feel like you've given my career a second thought. From the beginning it has felt like you've set the rules and I've just followed along."

"That's not how this is."

"Isn't it? I got in trouble for taking too much time off so I could go on trips with you and go to dinners with you. Dinners, I'll remind you, that I was uncomfortable attending."

"You seemed perfectly comfortable tonight."

"Because I'll do those things if it makes your life easier. I'll work all day and then attend some fancy dinner because I know it makes your evening better, but that doesn't mean I wouldn't rather be just hanging out with you in a normal house, eating a normal meal."

"You knew you were signing onto this."

I nod. "Yes, I knew I was signing onto the dinners and the events, but I never agreed to leaving my career to pick out china patterns and create some initiative to help education or maintain bridges or whatever is expected of me."

"You won't be leaving your career."

"I work eighty hour work weeks. One hundred if I'm lucky. Working just twenty-five hours feels an awful lot like leaving my career. Some surgeries take twenty-five hours. My schedule is unpredictable. If there's an emergency surgery, I might have to skip a tea party, or whatever is on the schedule."

"You don't have to talk down the job. Michelle Obama is a smart, amazing woman and she left her career to support her husband's. I don't want to sound archaic, because I'm not, but the President needs a First Lady and when you become my wife, it just makes sense."

For a few seconds, I don't say anything. I just stare at him because this doesn't sound like Derek. Maybe he hasn't outwardly said he supports my career, but he's never said a woman's place should be at her husband's side and that's what I'm hearing right now. Maybe not all wives, but the wife of the President is expected to stand by her husband, disregarding all the work she's put in. And I have the utmost respect for all the former First Ladies, but they signed onto this life. I feel like I'm being thrown to the sharks.

Derek stares at me and I return his gaze. There's so much I want to say, but I can't figure out how to get there. I cross my arms over my chest and briefly look down at my feet. All I can think about is that stupid reporter, which has me feeling even worse than I did just seconds ago. "Do you know a woman named Makenna?" I ask.

He looks understandably confused. "No. Should I?"

"You should. She was one of your guests tonight."

"I don't know everyone's names." He pauses. "Meredith, what does this have to do—"

"I sat down next to Makenna tonight, thinking she was just a friendly face, only to realize she's a reporter. I don't know who she reports for or who she came with, but she asked me if I was having an affair with Grant."

Derek's eyes go wide. "Grant? Why would she choose Grant?"

"Because I had been talking to Grant and he'd just told me about the whole First Lady thing and I was upset. The reporter took it as a lover's quarrel."

"I don't understand why you're telling me this. Do I need to do damage control?"

"You want to do damage control?" I ask.

Derek shrugs. "If she's going to be publishing lies, then yes."

I shake my head.

Derek's still confused. "What is happening right now? First the First Lady stuff and now this. What's going on?"

"I think I'm finally allowing myself to realize that we're not a team." I shake my head. "Everything we do, from the very first moment we met, was for your benefit. And I was happy to do things for you because they made you happy and I know your life is complicated and your job is hard, but my life is complicated and my job is hard, too. And I don't think you do things to make me happy."

For a minute we're both quiet and then Derek says, "You're back living with Alex. I did that to make you happy."

"Yes, after weeks of me telling you I didn't like the house."

"What do you want from me?"

"I want you to not have to ask me if you should be clarifying the 'news' the reporters are spewing about me. This isn't the first time someone has made a false accusation about me, but it feels like the first time you care."

"Believe me, I want to go out there and tell anyone who has anything negative to say about you that they're wrong, but that's not how this works. People have freedom of speech, and I don't have time to debunk every false claim."

I shake my head. "It's not just about that, Derek. I told you from the beginning I was a private person and I just wanted to do my job and in the last few weeks, it feels like I'm not allowed either of those things. My name is in the news every day and you're telling me that by marrying you, my hours will be cut down to almost a quarter of what I'm doing now."

Derek walks towards me and runs his hands along my shoulders and down my upper arms. "I know this sucks. _Believe me_." I look up at him. "But it's all temporary. Only three-to-seven years. That's all I'm asking. I know if feels really long, but it'll just be a blip in our lifetime together."

He looks so earnest. He wants this to be a suitable solution to my worries and I so want it to be enough. I want _him_ to be enough.

But my job means something to me and I don't think it means anything to him.

I take a step back.

Derek's hands fall.

"Is it all or nothing? Either I become the First Lady or I can't marry you?"

He sighs. "It is."

I blink back a few tears. "Then I should go," I say quietly.

Derek just stands there while I walk into the bathroom and change back into my street clothes. I hang the designer dress on the back of the door and leave the jewelry I borrowed for the event on the bathroom counter. I also leave my engagement ring because I'd feel wrong taking it. I shove my pajamas into a tote back and pull on my coat. I do everything in the bathroom so I can just go.

As I walk past Derek, he's still standing there.

He says nothing to me.

I say nothing to him.

So I leave.

At home, Alex is sitting on the couch with a beer resting in his hand, resting on his knee, with Jo Wilson sitting beside him. They're enjoying a pizza, which is half gone. I drop my keys on the side table and Alex looks up and says, "We're watching your mother's surgical tapes. Jo's never seen her operate."

Alex looks happy. Jo is sitting close to him. She gives me a small smile.

"Sit down," Alex says.

I hear a car engine start outside and I wonder if that's Toby. We were both silent in the car, but I'm sure he knows something went wrong tonight. I was supposed to stay. I didn't cry once in the car. I'm not going to cry now, but I feel this heavy sadness weighing me down. I guess I wanted Derek to stop me, but I thought I didn't. Maybe he thought I'd stop myself.

Alex is still looking at me expectantly.

He asks, "What's wrong?" when it's clear I'm not okay.

I glance at Jo, realizing maybe she's not the audience I should have, but I say it anyway.

"Derek and I broke up."

* * *

 **AN: You're such a great group of readers, so I hope you will trust me and tuck your pitchforks away for the time being. Trust in me! I promise I won't steer you wrong. I've had this update planned since day one and everything has been leading up to this, but it doesn't mean it was easy to write. I know there were comments chapters and chapters ago asking me not to break them up, but I think this break up, or break, or pause in their relationship (since nothing has really been determined yet since Derek hasn't had his turn to talk) will be really important. As always, I'd love to hear your feedback and promise things will turn out okay.  
**

 **Since you've all been so amazing, I will be updating twice next week. On Monday and Friday. I can confirm the Monday chapter will be Meredith's POV and the Friday one will be Derek's POV. I will not be updating the following week, the week of Christmas, since I will be on vacation. I'll be back in January and this story will be wrapping on Inauguration Day here in the US (January 20th). I'm nothing if not someone who loves irony.**

 **Once again, thank you for reading. I'll be looking out for your comments and you'll hear more from me on Monday the 19th.**


	35. Weapon

**AN: I could cry from how kind your reviews were on the last chapter! I was so nervous posting, but you were all incredibly sweet and thoughtful. I appreciate hearing from every single one of you. Thank you a million times over!**

 **As a reminder, this chapter is from Meredith's POV and the next will be from Derek - posted on Friday. I hope you like it!**

 **Also, two things I've received a bunch of questions about: 1) I will be writing another story after this, but it will not be a sequel. It will be completely different. I have no ETA on that since I have a baby coming soon. Which leads me to 2) My baby is doing great! Thank you all for asking.**

 **Now, onto what you're here for...**

* * *

I find my parents' house is locked when I arrive. I try my key, but it doesn't work. I ring the doorbell and knock on the door, but the house is silent. Richard's car is in the driveway, which makes me think he's home somewhere. And then I remember my mom telling me how he's been chopping a lot of wood lately, so I walk around to the side of the house and look over the fence. Sure enough, Richard is swinging an axe—which would make me laugh, if I hadn't been feeling so shitty for the last week.

"Hey," I call over the fence.

Richard sets down his axe. "Hi Meredith." He walks over and unlocks the gate. "Did you try the front door?" he asks.

"It's locked."

He nods. "It hasn't been a good day."

"I'm not judging you, but if it's a bad day, then why are you out here? Shouldn't someone be in there with her?" I ask.

Richard lifts his axe, but he doesn't swing. He lifts it to about hip height and then lets it fall. He pulls off one of the gloves he's wearing and wipes the sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand. "It's been a week," he tells me and for a second I think he's talking about Derek and I. But he doesn't know about the break up, so that's not possible. And then I think of my mother.

"She's been gone a week?"

"Yes." He sighs. "On Thursday night she was herself and right before we went to bed, she wasn't. She was asking for Thatcher. She didn't even know who I was. Neither of us slept because she was too confused to sleep and I couldn't let her stay like that alone, so I just sat up with her. She slept Friday for most of the day and I thought she'd be Ellis again when she woke up, but she wasn't and she hasn't been herself in a week now."

I sit down on the porch steps and run a hand through my hair. "You should've told me."

Richard crosses the yard and sits down beside me. "I know you've been busy. I didn't want to worry you."

"I appreciate that, but you can't do this on your own." I look over at him. He looks exhausted. "Have you even been sleeping?" I ask.

"Some."

"You need to sleep."

Richard nods. "It's been a rough week."

I turn away from him. "Yeah, it has."

It feels like ever since my mom got sick neither of us has spent any time together without discussing her. Richard and I used to spend all our time talking medicine. He was my mentor early on because despite my mom being a superior surgeon, she could never teach me like Richard could. I remember spending hours with him running skills labs and reviewing charts. He never showed me any favoritism, but even when I wasn't on cases with him, at night we'd go over the procedures he did and he had me explain how I'd do them. He made me a better surgeon.

But we don't talk medicine any longer because he's no longer working and my mom's health has been coming first. I wonder if he wishes he was still working so he could busy his mind.

"I hired a nurse," he admits after a long period of silence.

I nod because I'm not surprised. "That's who's watching her."

"Yes. Her name is Grace. She's young and works predominantly with dementia patients. She's good and Ellis seems to like her, although she won't call her Grace; she'll only call her Nurse."

"Sounds like the old Ellis."

Richard smiles a little. "Yes, it does."

"It's okay that you hired a nurse. You can't be expected to do all of this alone."

"I wish I could do something more."

"I feel the same way."

Richard sighs and looks over at me. "Enough about my problems. How are you? How's Derek?"

I smile at the irony and shake my head. I cried some the night of and even more then next day, but I've been trying to hold myself together. After all, I'm the one who ended things.

What hurts the most is not hearing anything at all from Derek. We haven't discussed anything at all, not even how we would address the public, but for the time being it seems like the White House is pretending Derek and I are still together. I heard my name on the news just this morning.

I feel my eyes prick with tears and I turn my head away to catch myself.

"You broke up, didn't you?" Richard asks.

I nod.

He wraps his arm around my shoulder. "I'm so sorry. What happened?"

After I told Alex we'd broken up, I basically excused myself upstairs. The next morning I found Cristina in my bed, but we didn't discuss it. We danced it out. I haven't discussed the break up with anyone yet.

I collect myself, but find myself leaning a bit into Richard. "He asked for a lifestyle I couldn't give him."

"I see."

"I told him I wouldn't give up my career for his and that wasn't okay with him, so I ended things."

Richard runs his hand up and down my arm as a form of comfort. I had come here initially to find comfort from my mom, not realizing that maybe Richard would've been the more natural choice. My mom and I may get along now and she may be happy that I'm happy, but she was never the romantic of the two of them. Just like Derek has always been more romantic than me.

"Your life with Derek has been complicated from the beginning," Richard says and I nod. "I threw you into chaos that day when you had to operate on him and ever since that, I can only imagine that your life has been different."

"It has."

"I don't know what Derek asked of you, but I can use my imagination."

"He asked me to give up my career to become the First Lady. I'd have to cut my hours down and focus my attention on a charity or an organization. I don't know. We never really got that far in the conversation. I heard him say I'd be able to work twenty-five hours—like it was a gift—and I checked out." Richard squeezes my shoulder. "But it wasn't just that. Even before last week, around the time we got engaged, things have been really hard."

"Do you mean the news stories?"

"Mostly."

Richard nods. "I couldn't imagine the constant gossip. The lies they've been telling and the sensationalism they've given every little piece of information about you."

"I tried to talk to Derek, but he assumed it would all blow over and maybe it would. But being stuck in the middle of the storm just means you have to make it through the other side. I don't know if I'm strong enough for that."

"I don't think any of this is a measure of your strength, Meredith." He glances at me. "You've been dealt a difficult hand, even from your youth and you've risen above. I don't see you and Derek staying away from each other for very long."

I shake my head. "We broke up. I gave back the ring. I haven't heard from him in a week."

"Yes, but he hasn't heard from you either, and you're still thinking of him." I don't believe that necessarily means Derek is thinking of me, but I don't argue with Richard. "Derek loves you and I think right now he's allowed his job to overshadow is life, which I'm guessing might be fairly typical for a politician or anyone with a high-powered job. Look at your mom and me."

"Yeah, but you always made it work."

"We did and we didn't. At the height of Ellis's career, she was never home for dinner or available to see your recitals. She missed birthdays and anniversaries because surgery has always been her priority. Sometimes I felt like a third fiddle, because despite everything, you were always second."

I smile.

"Your mom and I had a lot of arguments. A lot of nights sleeping apart because we never saw eye-to-eye. She always said we got along so well in the beginning because we were both oppressed in the field, but I never felt the need to continue to prove myself a decade later and she did."

"You think Mom worked so hard because she was trying to prove herself?"

Richard nods. "I do. Not with everything she did, but a lot of her work was to prove that she—and other women—had the power to succeed even when men were telling her she would never be more than a glorified nurse."

"But I never heard you fighting."

He smiles. "The hospital was our battlefield. We fought in on call rooms, in the hallways sometimes, hell, even in the OR. It took a while for her to cut back and take time to be with me, with us, but she got there eventually. Maybe Derek just needs time to realize he's putting you second when you should be first. I know this country won't run itself, but he does have a team available to help him make decisions for the country, but he doesn't have a team when it comes to you. He needs to see you as a priority."

I like what Richard is saying and I so want it to be that easy, but I'm not sure I can wait around while Derek runs a country for another seven years, maybe, before I become a priority. "I don't think it's that simple. His team says he needs a First Lady and the country is waiting. The job is resting on my shoulders."

"He hasn't had a First Lady for over a year and he's gotten by," Richard reminds me. "Plus, Derek makes the rules. He has the power. I don't think that should be ignored."

My pager goes off and reads 911. I show him. "I have to go."

Richard nods. He drops his arm and I stand up.

"Please keep me in the loop about Mom, okay? You shouldn't do this alone."

"I will."

I lean down and kiss his cheek. "Thanks Dad." He smiles at me. "I'll think about what you said."

"Don't just think about it. Fight for it, Meredith."

I leave without saying anything more.

\\\\\

My 911 call to the hospital ended up being a DOA. For learning purposes, I had my resident teach their interns to continue giving the patient life-saving measures, even though I knew the patient was dead. My resident knows the patient is dead. The nurses know the patient is dead. But in order to tell the patient's family their loved one has died, we need to make sure we did everything to save a life.

I'm hanging by the nurse's lounge, watching my resident's interns scramble, trying to figure out which ones will make it and which ones are going to flop. I'm also eating French fries even though it's still the morning because I don't care.

Cristina walks up to the desk. "What are you doing?"

I nod to the interns. "Judging."

Cristina turns and watches them. She shakes her head. "I have fifty bucks on them all flunking out."

"I'm putting fifty on Edinger." I watch Stephanie Edinger pointing and directing the other interns. She's a natural leader. "She's going to make it."

"She's going to burn herself out," Cristina says.

"No way."

"She will. She needs to worry about herself and not what other people are doing. Take charge. Do it yourself. That's how I was and look at me now." Cristina gives me one of her patented 'I'm the best' smiles. She is the best in her field, so she's earned the right.

I do agree with her there. "Edinger would make a good Chief. She could run this place one day."

"Who wants be Chief when you barely get to cut?"

"I'm with you there."

Cristina leans against the counter. "Why are you eating French fries at ten a.m.?"

I offer her one and she shakes her head. "I was hungry."

"Does the cafeteria even serve French fries this early?"

"No. Harris went out and got them for me. He's going to be a good administrator, but he's not going to make it through this program."

Cristina turns to watch the interns again. "Shame. He's one of the few that could even put in a central line day one."

"How the mighty have fallen."

Cristina gives me a look. "Is this depression, wallowing Meredith?"

"No."

"You're just sitting here eating fries."

"So?"

"So, this seems like depression. Remember back when I didn't have a cardio god to lead me down the path of greatness?" I nod. "I ate a lot of chips and did a lot of watching other people. You haven't operated in two days."

I shrug. "No one has needed it."

"That's why we troll for surgeries."

"Are you telling me I should stab someone so I can operate?"

"If that's what it takes."

I roll my eyes. "I'm not depressed and I'm not wallowing. I was hungry, so I ate. My resident has dumb interns, so I'm watching to make sure they don't kill this patient again. I haven't operated because I am so good at my job that I don't have any patients who need surgery. They've all been cured."

Cristina gives me another look. I want to throw a fry at her face. "I know you don't want to talk about any of this—"

"I don't."

"I don't either," Cristina says. "But it seems to me that you're wallowing. You've been grumpy and sad and eating weird things for a week now. I know you guys broke up," she says quietly since no one knows, "but you gave that life up for this life and it seems like you're blowing it."

"I'm not blowing it."

Cristina shrugs. "Then maybe you're pregnant. Those are the only two explanations I have."

My stomach drops out of my feet. Cristina is still looking at me, but the look on my face must be crazy. She rights herself and then leans in. "You're not pregnant, right?"

\\\\\

Cristina and I sit in the tunnels beneath the hospital. She's staring ahead and I'm staring at the pregnancy test I just peed on, which was grosser than I thought it would be. I should've peed into a cup and put the test in there, but I wasn't thinking. I clearly haven't been thinking for a while.

When Cristina flippantly said I might be pregnant, suddenly a lot of things lined up. I haven't had my period in two months. I obviously knew it was late, but I hadn't really considered how late. Derek and I are religious with condoms, but what it one broke or if he forgot and I didn't notice? What if my birth control failed? What if? What if? What if?

Before the break up, I figured Derek and I would have children. I know I'm not exactly young anymore, but I thought maybe one or two. Maybe we could adopt. But I thought we'd have some time. A year after the wedding. Maybe more. But we're not even together any longer and if I'm pregnant—

My phone alarm goes off. It's been three minutes.

I stand.

Cristina stands.

I look up at her from the pregnancy test.

 _Pregnant._

I show Cristina.

"No way," she says.

"Yeah."

"No freaking way!"

"Oh my god," I say.

Cristina stands there with wide eyes. "Ok, um, were you trying to?"

I shake my head. "No! Total accident. I used the thing."

"Oh," is all she says. Followed by, "So are we happy about this? Or are we exercising out legal right to choose?"

I don't know. I have no idea. I shrug. "I don't know. We're not together. It would be a major scandal."

Cristina nods. "Sure, but think about yourself for a second. Do you want a kid?"

"Right now? No."

"Are you going to tell him?"

"No. Yes. I should…"

Cristina takes the test from my hand and reads the screen. "You should tell him, but you should make your decision first. Go in with a clear picture of what you want. I did that with Owen and it sort of worked."

"You and Owen were married. It's different."

"Have you even had the kid discussion?"

"No."

Cristina hands back the test right as her pager goes off. "Owen," she says.

I put the test in my pocket. "Go."

"Are you okay?"

I nod. "I'm fine."

"If you need anything—"

"I'm fine," I reiterate.

Cristina takes a step back. "Try not to worry."

I'm not sure I can do that, but I say yes anyway.

After Cristina goes, I sit back down on the gurney and stare down at the pregnancy test. I wonder how I could be so stupid. How I could allow myself to get knocked up and not realize for…weeks? Maybe a month or more? I thought my period going was stress. It's happened before. We were covered in that department, so I figured my period would be back. I never thought I was pregnant.

I pull my phone from my pocket and look down at Derek's name in my recent calls list. I actually haven't made any calls since last Thursday, when I called him in the morning on the way to the White House to work with Sarah. I wonder if Sarah knows the wedding is off. I wonder who else knows.

I should call Derek. He should know now, but I can't make the call. I'm afraid of a lot of things—of him being disappointed or maybe even worse, excited. Of us jumping back into our relationship for the sake of a child—one I'm not even sure I want—and then messing everything up again because we never worked on our problems. But I'm mostly worried that he won't answer or if he does, he won't talk to me. I'm worried the bridge has been burnt between us.

So I decide not to call. Maybe later. Maybe tonight.

I tuck the pregnancy test away and get up, planning to go to the attending's lounge to hide the test and then find a surgery. Cristina's right; I have been wallowing, but I have a job to do.

As I step onto the elevator to ride to the attending's lounge, I get a page.

 _Code Silver_. Weapon.


	36. Sir

**AN: All I do is gush because you're all so wonderful and sweet. I was blown away by the comments on the last part and happy to read such thoughtful commentary on what I wrote. So many of you have opinions on Meredith's pregnancy and I love reading them. A lot of you are also worried because of the Code Silver, which does mean weapon in the hospital. We're going to get back to that code, but only after this chapter.**

 **HOWEVER, very good news. I had mentioned I wouldn't be updating the week of Christmas, but I will! I thought I wouldn't have time to write since I'll be with my family, but I actually already wrote the chapter for next Wednesday! I still have some editing and tweaks to make, but you will be updated next week.**

 **Once again, I do want to say that I've had this story line in place since the beginning. I actually wrote this story surrounded by this idea, so I'm so glad you're enjoying what you're reading. This part below is Derek's POV post break-up with a cliffhanger at the end. Sorry! But again, I'll be updating in just a few days.**

 **I'm wishing you all a Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukah, and a happy holiday season. I'll see you next week!**

* * *

Amelia has been calling me all morning, which I keep ignoring. I'm a bad brother.

I know she's been doing well; Mom told me, but I'm not sure I'm ready to listen to her talk about being well. My lack of attention span has nothing to do with Amelia. When she's doing well, I love talking to my sister, but with recent events I'm not so ready to talk to my overbearing family. In fact, I haven't spoken to any of my family members since last week. I'm trying to hold out as long as possible.

There's a knock on the door and before I even invite the person in, Alan is standing in the doorway. "Mr. President, do you have a moment?"

"Sure," I say with a sigh.

I get up from my desk and walk around to sit down on one of my two couches. Alan sits across from me. He has an official White House folder in his hands. "I know you're not interested in discussing the details of you and Doctor—"

"I said no," I remind him for the billionth time.

"Sir, we need to figure out a game plan. June third is less than two months away. It would be better to make the announcement now rather than later."

"I'm very much aware that June third is less than two months away. You don't need to tell me that, Alan." I sound angry and bitter, but I am angry and bitter.

I now understand why the President doesn't date in the White House. Becoming involved with anyone is messy and hard, but it's even more difficult when you're under the constant watch of 330 million people. In the beginning, I never expected us to split, but now that we have, I wish for the days early in our relationship when no one knew we were dating. That time was so much easier. I'm not wishing Meredith and I never happened, but I am wishing we'd fought harder to keep our secret. Maybe none of this would be happening.

Alan sits quietly across from me, which I know is painful for him. He's always so opinionated and I know he's secretly gloating on the inside because he knew this would happen. I know he's on my side for all things having to do with the presidency, but he was never on my side when it came to Meredith. It feels like no one agreed with our relationship, except for Grant and Toby.

I can't claim to be totally okay with Grant. For one thing, the conversation I had with Alan which Grant overheard, was private. We were in this very office, which should be the cone of silence. But I'm also mad because he said something to Meredith. I was going to tell her.

But to be honest, I'm angriest that I didn't just tell Meredith in the first place.

Or maybe fought harder against her taking the job as First Lady at all.

I'm just angry.

"I don't mean to press you, Sir…"

"But you're going to anyway."

Alan nods. "We need a plan. You don't need to announce anything today, but we need to figure out when to make an announcement."

I know he's right and I also know sooner is better than later. So I concede, "I'll write something up. I leave on Monday for my trip, so maybe I'll make the announcement tomorrow. Give everyone the weekend and then make some big moves while I'm in Cuba."

"That's a good plan, Sir."

My desk phone rings and then picks up, "Mr. President?" Sophie, my receptionist, says.

"Yes?"

"Your sister Amelia's here to see you."

I look over at Alan. "How did Amelia get in?"

He shrugs. "I don't know."

"Sir?" Sophie says.

"Yes, send her in." The line goes dead. "We'll need to room, Alan."

Alan stands, "Of course, Mr. President. We'll discuss this more later."

The door opens and Amelia walks right in like she owns the place. "Alan," she greets my Chief of Staff.

"Doctor Shepherd," he says. "You look well."

"I am."

Amelia stares at me across the room and Alan excuses himself. I walk around my desk, feeling like I'm in trouble. I pretend to have the power in this relationship, but my sister has always had a way about bringing me down a few steps. She walks over and sits down on my couch.

I sit down in my desk chair. We're both silent.

After some time I ask, "So are we just silently fighting?"

"Well, some would say not answering my many phone calls would be considered rude. How do you know I wasn't in trouble?"

"Mom said you've been doing well."

"Not that kind of trouble," she says. "What if I needed you to help change a flat tire?"

I shake my head. "You live in New York. Why would I be your first call?"

"I've been in DC for a week. I text you a month ago to tell you I'd be in town for a medical conference. Don't you remember?"

I rack my brain, but I don't remember.

"You text me back saying we should get dinner. You told me Thursday. Today." Clearly I look confused because Amelia says, "Do you seriously not remember?"

"I have a lot to worry about, Amy."

She nods. "I know, but it was your idea." She stands up from the couch and walks over to my desk. "Okay, I'm going to pretend I'm not mad at you for forgetting your favorite sister and you're going to pretend you're not busy and we're going to have lunch. See? A compromise."

I sigh. If I'm making an announcement about our break up tomorrow, I might as well tell Amelia today. She'll tell the rest of the family and I'll be off the hook. "Okay, lunch," I agree. "What do you want? I'll have the kitchen make something."

Amelia and I both place an order with the kitchen and are promised food in about twenty minutes. I sit down on the couch across from Amelia and with the way she's looking at me, I know she wants to tell me something.

"Mom says you're doing well."

"I am. I'm clean and sober."

"Good. What else is going on? Are you still seeing that guy…what's his name?"

Amelia looks confused and then says, "Marco? No, we're done. I'm single, actually. And focusing on myself."

"That's big of you."

"I thought so."

"I feel like you want to tell me something," I say, deciding just to come out with it.

She smiles. "I do. It's nothing bad. Exciting, actually. I got offered a job in Seattle. At Seattle Grace. It's a top tear program and they have an incredible neurosurgeon on staff and I'd be working directly with her."

"Seattle," I repeat.

Amelia nods. "I know it's big, but—"

"It is big, but it sounds like a good program. A good situation."

"It will be. It could change a lot for me."

"Good." I'm genuinely happy. "You deserve to start over."

"Thank you." Amelia is still beaming. I haven't seen her this happy in years. "I'm leaving in a few weeks, but I'll be back for the wedding. I promise. I already booked a ticket."

Immediately I feel bad. I look down at my shoes, trying to collect myself. My sister has never been good about thinking of others, but the fact that she's thinking of Meredith and my wedding while making her plans is heartwarming. Too bad there won't be a wedding.

When I look up, Amelia has a look on her face. "What happened?" she asks.

I shake my head. "I should reimburse you for that ticket."

"What are you talking about?"

"Meredith and I…" I begin, but I don't finish my sentence.

Amelia says, "You broke up."

I nod.

"What happened?"

I didn't expect to feel so sad. I've been sad for a week now, but I've also been angry and hurt. Not at Meredith, really, because she was right. I've been pushing her into this role and this lifestyle for a year now and she's always been patient and understanding. She's done what I needed her to do and been there for me and I can't remember the last time I really did something for her. And Meredith was never asking for a lot.

I'm angry and hurt because she never said anything. Maybe I should've noticed, but she never said how badly she was affected by the news reports. I had no idea she was so unhappy. And although I knew she didn't want the role of the First Lady, I did think she'd come around. I just assumed she knew that by marrying me, she'd be expected to fill the role.

I keep picking up my phone to call her. I want to apologize and make everything right, but at the end of the day I do have a duty to this country and I do have a constitution to uphold. The First Amendment says, _"Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercises thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for the redress of grievances."_

Basically I have no right to stop the press from saying whatever they want to say and as it was made very clear to me, I will have a First Lady.

"I was handing Meredith the role of First Lady, which she didn't want, and it's a necessary role. She also believed I should've done more to protect her from the press, or at least stand up for her."

"Okay. Is that really why you broke up?"

"Do you think I'm lying?" I ask.

"No, but it seems like bullshit reasons."

"Why?"

"Because isn't the First Lady just a glorified hostess?"

I shake my head. "No. The First Lady is an important position. Sure, she's expected to greet guests and design the parties at the White House, but she's also the figurehead for the social side of the White House. She's expected to work with charities and organizations to bring social awareness to the people."

Amelia takes a long pause and then asks, "Do you honestly think Meredith Grey was going to design parties and be a figurehead for anything?"

I could lie, but Amelia knows me too well. "No."

"Then why did you tell her she had to do it?"

"Because I was told we needed a First Lady. I'm down in approval rating and my team believes it has to do with my unorthodox personal life. We were hoping by fulfilling the role of the First Lady and by getting married, Meredith and I would resemble a typical White House family and my rating would go up."

"Did you get engaged just for your approval rating?"

"No!" I say quickly.

"So why make Meredith take on a job she doesn't want for an approval rating? And why care about approval ratings at all? People probably hate you because ISIS is still bombing the shit out of Syria. And that test rocket exploded. And Russia is being sneaky. Again. And the UK is Brexiting. I know it's not a verb," she says before I can correct her. "Who the fuck told you the single reason you're disliked is because you don't have a First Lady? You haven't had a first lady all year."

"I know, but—"

Amelia shakes her head. "You're crazy. You're giving up Meredith because she won't fulfill a role that doesn't need fulfilling. Who has been doing all those things this past year?"

I feel stupid when I say, "We hired a team. They've been throwing the parties and showing up for charities."

"You're an idiot. You've made this into a big deal and it didn't have to be. You're the President, Derek. You make the rules. So make them."

I'm still mulling over my sister's words when our food arrives. We don't do a whole lot of talking through the meal because I am too busy making plans. I hate to admit it, but Amelia is right. I don't need to force Meredith into this role.

However, I am still worried because the First Lady conversation was only the catalyst for our breakup. The reason Meredith and I ended things—or should I say Meredith ended things—is much bigger than some stupid job. Meredith was right in saying that I haven't supported her and that's what I need to do. But before I apologize to Meredith, I need to do some apologizing right here in the White House.

Amelia leaves with a promise from me to see her off in a few weeks. I need to visit New York City anyway, so I make a plan to see my sister during that visit as well. I also promise to visit once she's settled in Seattle. We share a long hug and I thank her, which seems to make her even happier than both her sobriety and her big news combined.

After Amelia leaves, I call Grant into my office. I haven't seen him a lot lately, but I think he's been avoiding me. I also haven't been leaving the White House much, so his services haven't been needed.

Grant waits for me to answer the door, unlike Alan.

"Hello Sir," he says politely and I motion for him to take a seat.

"How are you?" I ask, feeling awkward. For more than a year now, Grant has been Grant, my protector, so sometimes I forget about Tom, my good friend.

"I'm fine, Sir. And you?"

I can't really handle the politeness. Sitting across from me is the guy who I used to hold upside during keg parties so he could do a keg stand, always drinking faster than anyone else. "Tom," I say to him, which quickly puts us both at ease.

Tom relaxes and says, "Derek."

"I've been punishing you for what you said to Meredith."

He nods. "Yes, but I shouldn't have said anything."

"Maybe right then wasn't the best time, or maybe giving me some warning would've been good, but I don't think you were wrong in telling her. It's just that I should've been the one to tell her. That's on me, not you."

"I do want you to know that I didn't mean to tell her. I mentioned it in the conversation because I thought she knew. I didn't just come out and tell her that you were going to make her First Lady. It was casual. However, I do see how that wasn't my place."

I nod. "Sure, but had I told her, it wouldn't have mattered. I just wanted to tell you I'm sorry for punishing you this last week. This isn't your fault."

"Thanks, Derek. I appreciate that. And I'm sorry, too. For my role in all this."

"Apology accepted," I tell him. I hold out my hand. Tom shakes it.

"So what now?" he asks.

"Now, I have to make an even bigger apology."

Tom smiles a bit. "Do some groveling?"

I nod. "Exactly."

I'm feeling better after my conversation with Amelia and Grant. I have a lot of work to do, but the first step is making a call. I call Meredith and wait for her to pick up, but it goes to voicemail. I'm assuming she's in surgery, so I leave a message, "Hi Meredith, it's me. I think we should talk. I know you have some really genuine concerns about what I was asking of you last week and I want us to talk about it." I pause and then say, "You don't have to be First Lady. You don't _have_ to be anything you don't want to be. But I hope you still want to be my wife because I want to be your husband. Please give me a call back. Okay. I love you. Bye."

After I hang up the phone, feeling just a little pathetic because I feel like I was begging a bit, my office door opens without a knock. Alan is standing there.

"Alan, I'm going to have to ask you to make sure you knock. And when you do knock, you have to wait for me to tell you to come in."

"Sir," he interrupts.

"I know I sound like a stickler, but if I'm on the phone, you just bursting in here will throw me off."

"Of course, sir, but we have a bigger issue right now."

"What issue?" I ask, almost casually. I'm used to handling issues.

"There's an active shooter, sir," Alan says.

My blood turns cold. "Where?"

We're had so many mass shootings in the last decade or more, but every time I hear about one, I have the same feeling in my gut. I feel like I might be sick. It's worse now that I'm the President because while everyone else can mourn privately in the aftermath, I'm always expected to give a speech and make people feel better. It's hard to make anyone feel better when you feel like you might throw up every few minutes.

Alan pauses and then says, "A local hospital."

For a solid minute, I just stare at him because I know when I ask what hospital, I know what he's going to say. It's the look on his face. It's the way he can't meet my eye. I know what he's going to say and I need him to say it, but I also can't hear him say it.

Against everything inside me screaming to not ask, I do anyway, "What hospital?"

Alan swallows hard and looks worried. "Georgetown, sir."


	37. Hand

**AN: I hope to all those who celebrated, that you had a lovely Christmas. To everyone else, happy holidays! You were all so kind on the last part, so thank you! Welcome to new readers and thank you to original readers for sticking around.**

 **I look forward to hearing from you after this next part.**

* * *

 **MEREDITH**

When the elevator opens to the third floor, everything is the same. I don't know what I expected—maybe some man to just be standing there holding a gun or some kind of carnage—but everyone seems relaxed. I reread my page: _Code Silver_. I'm pretty sure that means weapon, but maybe someone made a mistake. The likelihood of there being a weapon in this hospital is pretty unlikely. We have some of the best security of any hospital in the country.

Cristina walks up to me. "Are we supposed to be freaking out or no?"

"No, I guess not."

"Cool. Have you told Derek yet?"

We begin walking down the hallway. "How am I supposed to start that conversation?"

 **DEREK**

"Sir, I have to impress upon you that you cannot go to the scene of a potential mass shooting!" Alan says. "We do not have enough information, but if there is still a live shooter at the hospital, protocol says—"

I'm walking down the hallway towards the elevator which will take me to a car. "Does it look like I give a shit about protocol, Alan?" I ask, jamming the down button.

Grant and Toby are by my side, but Alan, my Vice President, my Secretary of Homeland Security and my Secretary of Defense are all following closely behind.

"Sir, your Chief of Staff is right," Denise, my head of Homeland Security, says. "We can't allow you to put yourself in harm's way. You have to stay here."

"I'm on the phone with the police. SWAT is on their way. They have it covered, sir."

I drop my voice when I say, "Meredith isn't answering her phone. Not her cell or her home phone. She could be ignoring me, so I had Toby call and she didn't answer. She's there and something is wrong. I'm not going to just sit by while the woman I love could be in danger."

"Sir—"

"No!" I shout. "If one of you won't drive me, I'll drive myself. Or I'll walk. But I'm getting there."

I push the elevator button again.

A second later, Toby says, "I'll drive."

"Good."

 **MEREDITH**

Cristina and I walk up the steps from the second floor. All she wants to talk about is the baby, which is exactly what I don't want to talk about. "So if you have it—"

"I probably won't," I tell her.

"But if you do, I hope it has his hair."

I can't help but smile. "Me too."

"When are you going to tell him?"

"Tonight, I guess. I mean, I need to find out how long I've been pregnant. That'll determine what we'll do next. I just can't believe this has happened. Did you know I've never taken a test before? I mean, what girl who made it through college didn't take a pregnancy test once or twice?"

Cristina shrugs. "I've taken at least three."

"See! You've been doing it right. What a mess."

"You know what's a mess? This whole weapon thing. I mean, there is no weapon and I have surgeries that I can't perform and it's all bullshit. No one has told us anything. No one is around."

I look around and Cristina's right. No one is around. "Where is everyone?"

"Hiding, I guess, but it—"

 _Bang._

 _Bang. Bang._

Cristina looks at me, "Wait were those…?"

"Gunshots," I finish.

 **DEREK**

The hospital is a circus. Outside are rows and rows of cop cars and police barricades all along the outside ring of the hospital. All over officers are on phones, speaking into walkie-talkies, and strategizing. There's one central man pointing to the building and seemingly running the show. He's who I want to talk to.

I reach for the door handle.

"Sir," Grant stops me. "You shouldn't get out. Let me go talk to someone."

Grant is right, as much as I hate admitting it. "That guy there," I point him out. "I want to talk to him."

"Okay." Grant exits the car, leaving just Toby and I.

I keep trying Meredith's phone and she keeps not answering.

Toby hands me his phone. "Just in case she's screening your calls."

I keep calling.

"I'm sure she's fine," Toby says. "She's smart. She's probably somewhere safe."

He sounds nervous.

"I hope you're right."

Toby looks at me in the rearview mirror. "Me too."

 **MEREDITH**

Cristina and I slip into a supply closet right as we hear another round of gunshots. I slide down onto the floor with my knees to my chest. Cristina props a chair beneath the door handle to keep the door secure. I put my head between my knees because I feel nauseous.

"We're not both crazy, right? Those were gunshots."

"They were," I say, my breathing labored.

"What's wrong?"

"I feel like I might puke."

"Okay, we gotta get out of here, 'cause I'm not staying in here after you stink up this place with your vomit," Cristina says.

I take another deep breath. "Don't say the word 'vomit'."

Cristina looks out the window, keeping an eye out, when my phone begins buzzing in my pocket. I pull it out and read the screen. _Derek_.

"Cristina," I show her.

"Is that the first contact?"

I nod. "Should I answer?"

Cristina rolls her eyes. "We're kind of in a situation right now, Mer. Let it go to voicemail."

I wait for the voicemail to come through and I think it won't, but then it does. He's left a long message. I type in my code and listen, " _Hi Meredith, it's me. I think we should talk. I know you have some really genuine concerns about what I was asking of you last week and I want us to talk about it. You don't have to be First Lady. You don't have to be anything you don't want to be. But I hope you still want to be my wife because I want to be your husband. Please give me a call back. Okay. I love you. Bye._ "

"What did he say?" Cristina asks.

"He said—"

"Oh my god," Cristina ducks down. She mouths the word, _shooter._

Suddenly I really do feel like I might puke. I put my hand over my mouth.

We both hold our breath and I keep my eye on the small window in the door. I wait and wait and wait, but I don't see anyone. After a few minutes, Cristina stands up enough to look out the window. "He's gone," she says quietly. Then she narrows her eyes, "April?"

 **DEREK**

The Chief of Police approaches the car and Grant holds the door open for him as he slides in the backseat with me. He holds out his hand, "Mr. President," he greets.

I shake his hand. "Chief Olsen. What's going on?"

"We have three reported casualties so far, but we haven't gotten in there yet."

"Why not?"

"Protocol, sir. Until we know where the gunman is and how many gunmen there are, we can't go in there. We are surveilling the outside of the building to gain more information. We have spotted one gunman, but he disappeared on the second floor. Once we're sure there's only one, we'll go in."

"When will that be?"

"Soon, we hope."

I shake my head. "I know it's protocol, but as you stand out here, more people are dying."

"And that's why we're working quickly and safely. I know it's frustrating to just sit here, believe me I do, but we can't risk our officers' lives because they can't save anyone if they're dead. They are well-trained, sir, and they will be going in very soon, but not unless I give the order. I need to be out there."

I feel so confined in this car. "I'd like to be out there with you."

"Sir, I'm not sure—"

"Mr. President," Toby chimes in, "if his officers can't go in yet, you shouldn't be out there. We don't have enough information."

"He's right," Chief Olsen says. He lowers his voice, "I know your girl is in there. I know this is very personal to you. We are going to do our best, okay?"

I swallow hard. "Okay."

 **MEREDITH**

April is breathless as she sinks down onto the floor. She's clearly been crying.

"What's happening?" Cristina asks, kneeling next to April on the floor.

"He's just shooting everyone he sees. Two nurses, a guard." She's almost hysterical. "He shot Alex. I don't know where Jackson is. He was supposed to be in OR two, but he's not there."

Cristina looks at me. "He shot Alex?" I ask.

April nods. "Owen and I found him in the elevator. Owen's working on him now. They're down the hall in exam room four. I left to get help. We need help and I need to find Jackson."

"Owen's okay?" Cristina asks.

"He is."

"But Alex," I say.

April reaches out and squeezes my upper arm. "Owen has him. He'll be okay."

"We should go there."

Cristina shakes her head. "Are you crazy?"

"They need help. I'll go to Alex and you go with April to find Jackson."

"That's an idiotic plan."

I'm already standing. "Exam room four is right across the cat walk. April made it. It'll take me thirty seconds."

"Meredith—"

"I could already be there by now. You two find Jackson. It'll be fine."

I'm expecting Cristina to disagree with me again, but she doesn't. She stands and so does April. I look out the window and the hallway is clear. "Text me when you find Jackson, okay?"

Cristina nods. "Text me when you get to Alex." I remove the chair from beneath the handle. "Be careful, Mer," she says.

I look at Cristina. "You too."

 **DEREK**

Chief Olsen comes back to the car a few minutes later. Toby rolls the back window down enough for Olsen to tell me, "We're sending guys in. There's just one shooter and he's on the third floor. They're going to try to take him down."

"Good," I say with a long sigh. "Still three dead?"

"As far as I know. We do have some injuries, but I don't want to give hard and fast numbers, yet."

"Thank you, Chief."

"Of course, Mr. President."

I'm still not calm, but the likelihood that Meredith is one of those three is slim. She has to be fine.

Toby has turned on the police scanner we keep in the car and we're listening as the SWAT team enters the hospital. They talk in quiet code, voices bouncing off one another as they trudge slowly through the front entrance. So far, they find no bodies and no trace of the shooter. There are civilians hiding beneath the front desk, which the team sends out. I'm happy to hear they're sending people out from the building. I just now hoping that Meredith is not on the third floor.

 **MEREDITH**

Cristina and April head to the left and I head to the right as we all leave the supply closet. I glance back and find Cristina glancing at me. I give her a nod and begin walking, keeping low to the ground just in case. The hallways are so quiet. I'm sure people are hiding in the rooms I pass, but no one makes a sound. I listen hard for the sound of shoes on the floors, but I hear nothing. I reach the doors to the cat walk and pull them open.

As I walk down the cat walk, I move quickly, just in case. As I reach the far end, I hear behind me, "Doctor Grey?"

Immediately I'm standing upright and I turn to the voice. There's a man standing there. A man who looks familiar. But I can't place him. Not at first. But when I do, I say, "Mr. Clark." I remember him now. He was devastated after his wife died. "Mr. Clark, you shouldn't be here. It's not safe."

"I know it's not safe here. That's the point. This hospital isn't safe."

"You should go someplace so you don't get hurt," I tell him. I want to get as far away from being out in the open as possible.

"I'm already hurt," he says. "You hurt me when you decided to kill my wife."

And then I see the gun.

 **DEREK**

I lean forward in my chair. The SWAT team isn't talking much. They keep using code, which is incredibly frustrating. "What are they saying?" I ask Grant and Toby, both who know the code.

"They've counted five bodies. They haven't found the gunman yet."

"Five?" I ask. "Any descriptions?"

"No, but they found them in the waiting room," Toby explains. "It's probably not her."

I nod, although I don't feel good about the use of the word 'probably.'

 **MEREDITH**

"Mr. Clark," I say and my voice trembles. I hold my hands up. I don't know why I do it, but it feels like something I'm supposed to do.

"Shut up," he says. "What kind of hospital is this? It isn't safe here. Somebody has to protect people. From you. Handing down judgments like you're God. You don't get to be God!

I try again, "Mr. Clark."

"No talking!" He points the gun at my chest.

"I didn't become a doctor because I wanted to be God," I say, my voice still shaking. I can feel the tears in my eyes. I don't want to cry. "I became a doctor because I wanted to save lives."

Mr. Clark shakes his head.

"Look at me, please. Look me in the eye," I say and I have no idea where this strength is coming from. "I'm a human being. I make mistakes. I'm flawed. We all are. Today, I think for you, it's just a mistake. You want justice. You want somebody to pay. I get that." I lower my hands because he's lowering his weapon. "You're a good man. I can see that in your eyes. Can you see the goodness in mine?"

Mr. Clark stares at me for a long, long time. Downstairs I hear rustling. I can't tell what it is.

The gun is at Gary Clark's side. His finger is still on the trigger. He just keeps staring at me.

I realize what the sound is beneath me when out of the corner of my eye, I see police officers turning the corner. Mr. Clark must see them as well because when I look back at him, his gun is raised.

I hold up my hands. "Mr. Clark—"

"No," is all he says and then I hear one gun shot, followed by about a dozen more, and then I'm on my back.

 **DEREK**

"We have the target insight," the SWAT leader says. "He's about forty paces away from an individual. Gun is down at his side. The gunman is tall, lean, in his 60s. He has a mustache. Thinning hair. He's wearing a brown coat, a white button up, and jeans. The individual across from him is female. Medium height. Thin. Blonde hair tied back. She's wearing dark blue hospital scrubs. She's in her mid-30s."

My heart is hammering in my chest.

"We're getting in position to take the shot."

Silence except for my heart.

"Okay, and…SHIT! Take the shot, take the shot."

I hear one gunshot far away and then about a dozen more close by. I ball my hands into fists. "The individual is down. She is down, but so is the gunman. I repeat, the gunman is down."

Before I can even think, I've opened the backdoor and jumped from the car.

 **MEREDITH**

At first I don't realize what's happened. There's too much commotion. I just know I am on my back on the floor. Did someone pull me down or knock me down? Did I fall? I can't figure it out. I stare up at the ceiling and try to figure it out.

I hear boots running all around. People.

A guy leans over me and is talking to me, but I can't hear. His hand presses to my chest. Why is he touching me?

I look over and Cristina is looking at me. She's above me and looks worried. I wonder if Owen is okay. Did April ever find Jackson? Where are Callie and Arizona?

"Meredith?" I hear Cristina say, but it sounds like she's underwater.

She pulls out her phone. She says my name again.

My chest hurts. My chest hurts, a lot. Like _a lot_.

 **DEREK**

Grant and Toby are at my side as I reach the barrier. Chief Olsen is there.

"A blonde woman was shot," I tell him.

"What?" he shouts over the commotion.

"Who was the woman that was just shot?"

Olsen shakes his head. "I don't know."

He picks up his phone. He nods a few times and then glances at me. He looks worried. He says a few yeses and then ends the call.

"Who. Was. Shot?" I ask very slowly.

With a sigh, Chief Olsen says, "Meredith Grey."

 **MEREDITH**

I'm on a gurney, but I can't stay coherent. Cristina keeps talking to me. She's saying stuff, but I can't hear. I've decided she's not under water; I am.

I realize I've been shot in my chest. My lower chest. Beneath my lungs. I can still breathe and I wouldn't be able to breathe if my lung had been shot. I'm also alive, so my heart probably wasn't shot. I don't know though because I've seen people shot in the heart before and they made it just fine. I could've been shot in the heart, but I'd have no idea.

While I'm being wheeled to the OR, presumably, I'm thinking about Derek and his message. He told me he loved me and that he wanted to talk. I'm not surprised that he still loves me; it's only been a week. But I am surprised he wants to talk. It seems like last time we talked, that everything was set in stone. I made myself clear. Unless he tells me he doesn't need a First Lady, I don't know how this is going to work. I mean…

My mind wanders as the pain grows.

 **DEREK**

I have to wait an hour until I'm allowed inside. I fight verbally and physically to be allowed past the barrier, but no one will let me go. Grant and Toby physically restrain me while a row of officers block me off. I'm sure people have noticed me, but I don't care if people are taking videos or pictures. I need to get to Meredith.

After that hour, I'm allowed inside with an escort of Grant, Toby, and about a half dozen officers. Chief Olsen walks with us.

"A doctor by the name of Cristina Yang is going to be operating on Doctor Grey." Hearing Cristina will be operating makes me feel better. "They are in the OR right now. I don't know what any of this doctor mumbo-jumbo is, but it seems like the bullet didn't hit anything bad. They'll remove it and she'll be okay."

We step onto the elevator. I feel queasy.

"Doctor Yang says she needs about an hour more."

"I want to see Meredith now."

Grant steps into my field of vision. "Derek," he says. "The doctors need a minute to fix Meredith. Cristina is operating on her best friend. She needs space. Let's give it to her. They have a waiting room ready for us. As soon as they know anything, Cristina will come get us."

"But—"

The elevator door opens to a quiet hallway. The juxtaposition between the spots where people were shot and areas where nothing happened is startling. It's as if everyone has left these areas in favor of where destruction happened.

Toby walks next to me. "If you want we can have another doctor go in and check on Doctor Yang and see how it's going. But I think Grant is right; _we_ need to keep our distance."

I hate to say it, but I do anyway. "You're right."

We walk into the waiting room and I sit down in a chair against the wall while Grant and Toby hang by the entrance. The squadron of officers leaves, so it's just the three of us.

I can't get my thoughts together. I feel like I'm drowning and I can't think of anything except Meredith lying in a pool of her own blood. I wonder what she thought the moment the bullet hit her. I remember exactly how I was feeling when I got shot, but I'm sure it's different for everyone. Once again, the realization that Meredith has been shot hits me and I press my face into my hands.

Who knows how long the surgery will take? I know I can't go in there, but I also can't just sit here. I have a job to do and a responsibility, plus, it might take my mind off everything if I get right to work.

I clear my throat. "I need a list of the dead and injured," I say.

Toby and Grant are both looking at me. Grant says, "Okay."

"And I should talk to the Chief of Surgery. Also, if Chief Olsen knows anything, I need to know. I should make a statement. We can do it from here."

"Sir, are you sure you're okay to make a statement."

I stand because I can't keep sitting. "I'm not okay, but none of this is okay. Even if I didn't know Meredith and the people of this hospital, it wouldn't be okay. So I need to make a statement."

Grant nods. "Okay. Toby, will you find the Chief of Surgery?"

"Miranda Bailey," I tell him.

"Yes, Doctor Bailey," Toby says. "I'll go find her and Chief Olsen."

It hits me that Richard and Ellis probably don't know. "We also need to call Richard. Maybe I should do that."

"Why don't you talk to the Chief of Surgery first and then you'll make the call."

"Okay."

Doctor Bailey shows up faster than I thought she would. She's small in stature, but she commands the room. As she approaches, I expect maybe a handshake or a formal hello since we've only met once, but she walks up and hugs me. Her hug is comforting. "I'm so sorry about Meredith."

My stomach drops. As she pulls away, she must see my face. "Oh no, sorry, she's fine!" she recovers quickly. "I mean, she is in surgery, but she'll _be_ fine. I just meant I'm sorry she was shot. I know you know how that feels."

"I do. How is the surgery going?"

Bailey and I sit down. "Good. Doctor Yang was able to remove the bullet and Meredith will be fine. The bullet was close to her heart, but we're all very lucky that the shooter wasn't a great shot. Although, the police have the death count at eleven."

"Eleven?"

She nods. "Yes."

I shake my head. "That's too many. I'm so sorry."

"Me too. And I'm not sure if you heard, but Alex Karev was shot."

"Alex?" I feel sick.

Bailey nods. "He'll be okay. He's at another hospital. They got him out before the shooter was taken out. He was shot in his side which traveled North in his chest and collapsed his lung. I spoke to Doctor Yang and she said that's why Meredith was out of hiding and walking around; she was going to find Alex."

"That's my girl. Always doing the stupid thing."

Bailey smiles, which quickly falls. "I also should tell you that the shooter was after Meredith, we believe."

"Why? Was it because of me?"

All I can think was this was a political move. I've thought about it before. Even with the security and the typical safety of a hospital, it doesn't mean Meredith is immune. From the beginning I've thought we needed more security around her, but I never brought it up from fear of her thinking I was smothering her. I wanted her to have relative freedom.

Bailey pats my hand. "No, not because of you. The shooter was the husband of a patient Meredith lost. It wasn't her fault, but Meredith had to unplug all life support and Mr. Clark took that as Meredith killing his wife. I'm not sure if that's exactly why he did all of this, but Cristina heard Mr. Clark mentioning his wife while she approached, before Meredith was shot. It makes the most sense."

"So he came for revenge and killed eleven people."

Doctor Bailey looks sad. "He did. He killed eleven people."

After my conversation with Doctor Bailey and my review of everything from Chief Olsen, I wait to hear news from Cristina. I know I need to address the nation, but information is still coming in and I really would like to see Meredith before I make a statement.

About an hour after Doctor Bailey left, Cristina Yang walks into the room. I stand. She pulls off her scrub cap and her thick dark hair falls over her shoulders. "Meredith is okay. She's going to be fine. Doctor Bailey said she told you the bullet was close to Meredith's heart and it was, but I was able to remove it and repair the damage. She'll be in some pain for a little while and the recovery isn't pretty, but she'll be alright."

I feel more relief than ever before. I reach forward and hug Cristina. She tenses for a second and then relaxes and hugs me back. I feel her shake once, like she might, too, be crying.

As I pull back, Cristina turns away from me. "Normally I wouldn't allow anyone in the ICU right now, but I'll make an exception. Come on, I'll bring you to her room."

We walk down the hallway and take the elevator up one more floor. Cristina leads me to a shut door and says, "I've asked the nurses to bring in a cot if you'd like to stay. She'll probably be out of it for a few hours, but you can sit with her."

"Thank you, Cristina."

She nods and walks away.

When I walk into the room, I see Meredith lying beneath the blankets with her eyes closed. She's very medicated and probably exhausted, so I walk in quietly. I move a chair next to her bed, but before I sit down, I lean over and kiss her forehead. She's warm and alive. She looks sickly—pale with bags under her eyes. I remember how I felt after getting shot, so I understand the need to just sleep.

I sit down next to her and take her hand in mine. She's wearing a hospital bracelet, but she's breathing. I lean down and press my forehead to the back of her hand and close my eyes. A few tears fall. I was so afraid I'd never see her again and now… She's alive.

I kiss the back of her hand and say to her as she sleeps, "I'm here. I love you and I'm here."

 **MEREDITH**

I can't tell if I'm dreaming or not, but I heard Derek tell me he loves me. I feel weird and my eyes are too heavy to open, but even if it is a dream, it's nice to have him here. I'm not ready to wake up or do whatever it is that I need to do, so for now I just enjoy the feeling of his hand in my hand.


	38. Relationship

**AN: Happy New Year! I hope you've all be doing well. I'm very optimistic for a great 2017. I keep getting a lot of questions about my baby and I'm happy to say she's doing well. I'm rounding into my third trimester and feeling really good.**

 **As for the last chapter, I am so happy with all the thoughts and feelings you shared with me. I was nervous to do that story line, but I knew it was going to be really important, so I appreciate the very positive feedback. I know a lot of you are concerned about Meredith's pregnancy, which will be discussed in this chapter. I'll have a little AN after the chapter discussing the pregnancy.**

 **Once again, thank you for the incredible feedback. And for those who have asked, this story will be ending at chapter 40, which will post on January 20th (Inauguration Day here in the US).**

* * *

When I walk into the kitchen first thing this morning, I find a bag of bagels and fresh cream cheese from the deli around the corner. A pot of coffee is also brewing. There's a dash and the letter 'R' written on the bag. In the last four weeks of my recovery, Richard has been stopping by a lot. Since my mom is in and out, it seems like he feels the need to act as my mother and father.

I pull an everything bagel from the bag and pop it into the toaster. I put almost all the rest into a bag and into the freezer. Alex is in Iowa until the weekend, but once he gets back, he'll tear through all the bagels.

As I've done every morning for the last four weeks, I check my phone for any updates on my patients. I might not be able to operate right now, but that doesn't mean I can't keep tabs on my patients. I find two text messages from Cristina. In the first one, she's sending me a picture of one of my patient's charts and in the second she asks, _Lunch today?_ I write back, _Yes_.

Being on medical leave sucks. I want nothing more than to be back in the OR, but I have another two weeks. I had to beg Dr. Bailey for only six weeks. She gave Alex eight and we've both been going a little nuts. Alex even flew home to Iowa nearly two weeks ago just to give himself a distraction. I know he's happy he's gone home, though, and I know his family has been happy to have him.

During my leave, I did a lot of napping in the beginning and a lot of reading. By week two I started to feel okay, so I've been taking short walks. I've been checking in on my mom almost every day. I've been organizing and cleaning up my life. But by week three, I started going nuts. I tried to go back to work, just to do paperwork, but Bailey made me leave. She knows I'm getting updates on my patients every day and I know it kills her that I won't just rest, but I need to stay in the loop. Bailey should understand that; she barely took maternity leave after Tuck.

The one big distraction I've had is Derek. Although, he hasn't actually been in the country for almost a month.

When I woke up in the hospital and Derek was by my side, I remember feeling good. I wanted him there. I needed him there. But just three days after the shooting, Derek had to go to Cuba and then Argentina and then Brazil and now he's in Chile. He wanted to stay, but I told him to go. "I have a fleet of doctors looking after me," I told him. The part I didn't mention is the fact that we're not together and him being around wouldn't be easy.

I keep thinking of the voicemail I listened to before I got shot. He wanted to talk and work it out and I do want to talk, but I don't want to talk on the phone when he's thousands of miles away. If we're going to figure this out, we're going to do this in person.

I don't keep as close tabs on Derek these days, but he mentioned he'd be back sometime this week.

I distract myself from thinking about Derek by turning on the TV and eating my bagel while sitting on the couch. I have a plan to walk a few miles today to build up some strength, maybe stop by the hospital if Bailey doesn't see me, and do some laundry. I hate that I have to think about how to fill up my days. The next two weeks can't go by fast enough.

By early afternoon, after lunch with Cristina, I am bored. I've walked, I tried to go to the hospital only to be stopped by Bailey, and now I'm lying on the couch. I text Cristina and begged her to bring over some charts for me to read and she promised she'd come. That was hours ago and I'm losing hope. But suddenly the doorbell rings and I am thanking the heavens that my best friend didn't just abandon me.

But when I open the door, it's not Cristina.

Derek is standing on my front porch.

I know I should smile or hug him, but I just stand there stunned.

He gives me a small smile. "Hi."

"You're back," is all I say.

"I am. I flew back about an hour ago."

For a few seconds I just stand there staring at him. For five weeks now, we've been apart. He spent about three days with me in the hospital, but a lot of that time he was working and I was on meds, so that time is a blur. It's been five weeks since our last State Dinner, so it feels weird to see him and have him here. I notice behind Derek stands Grant and Toby.

I give them both a smile because I'm still not too sure about Derek. "Hi Tom. Hi Matt."

Grant smiles at me. "It's good to see you, Meredith."

"You look good," Toby says. I notice Derek gives him a bit of a side-eye. Toby just grins at me.

After a few quiet seconds, I realize I'm being really rude. "Oh, why don't you all come in?"

"We…will wait in the car," Grants says.

Derek walks into my house alone.

I shut the door.

We both stand in the foyer for a second before I say, "Make yourself comfortable." I motion to the couch, which seems to have my body imprinted into the fabric. I'm lucky the house is clean because it'd been a mess up until about a day ago. "Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea? Water?"

Derek sits down on the couch. "Do you have Scotch?"

I still have a bottle of the Scotch he likes. "Yeah, give me a second."

When I make it into the kitchen I take a deep breath. I don't know why I'm so nervous. This is Derek, after all. But I think that's why I'm so nervous. We ended things so terribly and both said things that were hurtful. But Derek did leave that voicemail. He wants to fix things and that was before I got shot. I never would want us to get back together just because I was almost killed. If we decide to patch things up, it should be because we want to, not because we feel obligated to.

I grab the Scotch bottle from the cabinet and pour him a glass. I carry the glass and the full bottle into the living room, just in case. I set the bottle down on the table and hand him the glass. I sit down on the chair across the room from him.

"You're not having anything?"

"I can't. Not with the meds I'm on."

Derek takes a sip and glances at the bottle. He smiles a little, maybe because he knows I had bought that brand because he likes it. He focuses on me. "How are you doing?"

"I'm okay. I'm feeling stronger every day."

"Healing a gunshot wound is a bitch, isn't it?"

"You would know." I glance down at his chest where I removed his bullet more than a year ago. "I've taken a dozen bullets out, but I never really knew how it'd feel. Gotta say, I have no interest in ever having another one."

Derek laughs. "Me neither. So you have, what, two weeks left?"

"Yes, thank god. I'm going nuts just sitting around all day."

"At least you've had Alex around."

"He's been in Iowa for almost two weeks. He ditched me."

Derek shakes his head. "That bastard."

"He is a bastard."

We share a smile.

Once I was coherent enough in the hospital, I demanded to talk to Alex. He was at Presbyterian, but they transferred him back to Georgetown by his own request. For about a week, we shared a wall and we'd visit with one another during the day. Alex was pissed off that he'd been shot while I was mostly sad. Eleven people died that day and seventeen were injured, all because I'd killed his wife. Alex always called bullshit on me when I started feeling bad because he said it wasn't my fault.

The rational side of me knows it isn't my fault, but sometimes I can't see past the guilt.

Besides Alex, Derek has been the best at checking in with me. But our phone calls always stopped after the how are you part, so now we're in uncharted water.

Derek reads the room, something he's very good at, and asks—probably to break up the silence—"How is your mom?"

"About the same. She was gone for about two weeks, but then came back for a full week. Now she's in and out. Some days are great and others are pretty bad. Richard hired a nurse a month and a half ago and she's doing really well. My mom likes her. For now it's working."

"Is Richard doing okay?"

"Some days are great and others are pretty bad," I repeat.

Derek nods. "I imagine it's hard. If you need anything—"

"I know," I interrupt.

We fall into another silence. Derek opens his mouth just as I ask, "How's the family?"

He recovers quickly. "Good. Amelia moved to Seattle."

"She did?"

"She did. She's taken a job at Seattle Grace."

"That's a good hospital."

Derek nods. "She seems to like it." He takes another sip of his drink.

Another silence. This one is longer because I don't know what to say. I've never not known what to say around Derek. I know what I want to talk about, but I'm not sure how to bring it up. However, it's my turn. He left me the message, so now I should bring it up. Open a door for him. Extend an olive branch and all that.

But I'm worried he's moved past it. Maybe it was a moment of weakness. Maybe he's over it.

God, my brain is exhausting.

"Okay—" Derek says right as I say, "So—"

We share a laugh.

"This is awkward," he says.

I feel relieved and nod. "Yes."

"It wasn't awkward in the hospital."

"I was on morphine."

"True."

"But you're right. It's never been awkward before."

"Which is what I wanted to talk about. I mean, not the awkwardness," he corrects. "I want to talk about us and everything that happened the night of the State Dinner. No," he says quickly. "I want to talk about everything leading up to the State Dinner. Everything you mentioned that night."

Before he continues, I say, "I don't want to take back anything I said to you that night, but I just want to apologize for my delivery. I think I was just so frustrated and instead of us talking through those issues that night, I just left."

"I let you leave because I couldn't talk through your issues. I was so set on doing things the 'right' way, but there is no 'right' way. I keep thinking I have to be a certain kind of President, but my presidency is not what needs tending. You and I are the ones who need support. _I_ need to be supportive and I wasn't." Derek gets up and walks around the coffee table, sitting down there because it's closer, I guess. "You were right. I haven't been supporting you. I thought I was. I thought I was being enough for you, but I wasn't. I should've stood up for you against the media and I sure as hell should never have assumed you'd leave your job. You're an incredible surgeon and I'd be doing the people of DC a disservice by cutting back your hours. And—"

"Derek," I interrupt him. He immediately stops. "Take a breath."

He laughs. "I just have so much to apologize for."

I reach out and take his hand. "You don't."

Derek laces his fingers with mine. "I do. I really do. I treated you like shit."

"You didn't treat me like shit. You've always been good to me, but…you just got a little wrapped up in your own world. And I know your world is more important than mine—"

"It's not," he disagrees.

"Don't be ridiculous. You're the President. Your world is comprised of keeping hundreds of million people safe. Making the big decisions. Being the voice of the people. My world is more localized and I know what I do is important, but your job is all-consuming. I get that and I think that's why I let you forget about me."

Derek leans back a bit. "You thought I forgot you?"

"In a sense, yes."

"I didn't mean to."

"You didn't mean any of it," I tell him.

Derek squeezes my hand. "You have to let me apologize though. Maybe I didn't treat you like shit, but forgetting you is a pretty shitty thing to do." I don't disagree with him. "I have an important job, but so do you. I'm busy, but so are you. And you've spent the last year bending for me. I need to make some adjustments to make my life fit with yours, not the other way around."

"So what are you saying?"

"First and foremost, you will not be First Lady if you don't want to be. And this isn't my way of guilting you into saying yes to the job. I'm happy to keep hiring people or maybe just one person to do the job. I stand by the fact that our previous First Ladies were incredible—"

"As do I. I never wanted to trample all over the legacy."

Derek nods. "Good. Because Michelle Obama has done an incredible job. Laura Bush was a terrific First Lady. But you have other things to do. You worked too hard to get to where you are to just throw it away. I've heard you and you don't need to take the job."

"Okay."

"And I'm going to talk to the media."

"I don't know, Derek. They do have a right—"

"Yes, they do have a right to say what they want, but that doesn't mean I can't say what I want. I'm not going to jump down their throats at every turn, but I'm not going to allow them to lie or to accuse you of being the reason I haven't gotten much done. You are not Yoko Ono in this situation."

I laugh. "I hope not. She's a bit too eccentric for me."

Derek smiles. "I want us to go back to being a partnership. And not just because you were shot."

"I know. I heard your message before all that happened."

"You did?" he brightens up.

I nod. "I was hiding in a supply closet with Cristina and I got your message. I couldn't really deal with it that day, but I've thought a lot about it since."

"So what do you think? Do you think we can make this work?"

"We can, but we need to communicate better. Myself included. Next time, I need to tell when the problem starts, not months later."

"And I need to tell you way ahead of time what I need to be doing. I'm not going to force you to go to dinners. If you want nothing to do with my presidency, we can work with that."

"I don't mind the dinners," I tell him honestly. "That's not a problem."

Derek nods. "Okay. And I'm not sure how you feel about getting married, but if you didn't want to—"

"I do." I blush. "God, that was embarrassing. I just meant—"

"I do, too," he says.

He leans towards me.

I stop him. "We are _not_ having a big wedding," I tell him.

Derek nods. "I agree. Just you and me and a justice of the peace if you want."

"Well, maybe your family and mine."

"Maybe," he agrees. "And you don't have to move into the White House if you don't want to. I know it's overbearing and crazy around there, so if you wanted to stay here that would be okay."

A year ago, I would've hated the idea of living in the White House, but in the months I've spent the majority of my nights there, I've sort of grown to love being there. First, being with Derek every night is all I could want, but second, the people have been the best. The reason I hated the satellite house across the street was because I was always alone. There's no problem with loneliness in the White House. "No, I'd like to live there. With you."

Derek reaches forward and tucks my hair behind my ear. He looks solemn. He swallows. "When I heard you got shot, I thought that was it."

"For a second, I did, too," I admit for the first time.

"I was a mess. I sat outside for more than an hour calling you and waiting on baited breath. When I heard it was you, I pushed Toby to the ground when he held me back from running inside after you."

"You assaulted Toby for me?" I ask, trying to lighten the mood.

Derek does break a small smile. "I did."

I scoot forward in my chair so our knees are touching. "I didn't tell you then because I was afraid, but waking up to you being by my bed was incredible. I remember being half asleep or dreaming or something and I just knew you were there. But I was afraid when I woke up that it was going to be all a dream. But it wasn't. You really were there. Thank you for that."

"You're welcome. I needed to be there. I'm just glad you didn't kick me out."

"I feel like I'm just getting my way after throwing a fit. Like I'm a child who wanted a certain toy, threatened to burn down the house, so you've given me what I want so I don't cause a scene."

Derek shakes his head and he gives me a look. _Our_ look. "No, that's not it at all. I'm giving you what you want because it'll make you happy and that's all I want, to see you happy. Also, you were sort of right about everything."

I reach up and stroke Derek's cheek. "That last sentence was the sexiest thing you've ever said to me."

"Yeah?" he asks and leans in closer.

"Yeah," I say before kissing him.

We still have work to do. We still have to hammer out details, but I know Derek is on my side, which means we can make sound decisions _together_. But I'm not worrying about any of that now. For now I'm too busy focusing on the feeling of Derek's lips on mine. He and I are tripping our way upstairs to my bedroom and I haven't felt better in weeks. At the top of the stairs, Derek stops, pushes the hair out of my face and looks down at me. I push my hips against his, wanting his so badly, but also never wanting this moment to end.

The moment does end in a searing kiss and we're on the move again. Once in my room, I push Derek to sit on the edge of the bed. He pulls off his shirt and I pull off mine. I'm very much aware of my wound, which is basically healed, but I know Derek hasn't seen it yet. He holds my hips as he takes a closer look at the small bullet hole scar and the surgical scar that stretches two inches north and four inches south, right between my breasts. He reaches behind me to remove my bra, exposing me in all my glory.

Derek leans forward and kisses the very end of my scar, which is still very pink. He moves up and kisses beneath each of my breasts, his hands trailing around my back and sliding up. In all honesty, I've never felt more wanted in my life.

I reach forward and run my fingers along his scar. "We match," I tell him.

He gives me a sad smile. "We _survived_."

I lean down and kiss him.

Within minutes we're both naked and Derek is above me. I'm definitely ready for him, but he stops himself. "What?" I ask.

"I don't want to hurt you."

I run my hand over the scar. "You won't. I promise."

"But Doctor Bailey won't let you operate, and—"

"Derek. I am naked. I am naked and beneath you. Do you really want to be talking about Doctor Bailey right now?"

A second passes and then he says, "You're right. Scratch that." And then he slides into me.

We've had sex every way a couple can have sex, but this is the first time that truly feels like making love. We've made love before, probably the first time included, but for the first time I think we both understand what it would've meant if our bullets had strayed just a bit. We both could've died in our own way and neither of us seems okay with the prospect of losing the other.

So we take our time. Derek is gentler with me than usual, which I appreciate. I spend my time reacquainting myself with all the lines and freckles on his body while he spends his time lavishing me with kisses. Neither of us lasts very long because it has been five weeks, but it's all the better that way.

Afterwards, Derek goes downstairs for water and I lay on my back knowing I have to tell Derek just one more thing. The worst of the things we need to talk about.

When he walks back into the room, he looks so happy and I know I'm about to destroy him, but he needs to know. Derek removes his boxers and climbs back into bed with me. "I called Grant and Toby and told them to go home. It creeps me out when they're just waiting outside. Like this is some weird booty call."

I roll over on my side and hold a pillow to my chest. "Good," I say.

Derek slides down so he's eye level with me. "What's wrong? You seem sad." He runs his hand along my cheek.

"I have to tell you something."

He turns serious. "Okay."

I look away from him to gather my thoughts. Derek waits patiently. "The day of the shooting," I begin. "I was talking to Cristina and I don't know how it came up, but I was being mopey and sad and she suggested that maybe I was pregnant." I look at Derek and his eyes are wide. "I took a test. It was positive."

Derek glances down at my stomach for a second. I reach forward and take his hand. "I miscarried, Derek. Doctor Bailey said it was the trauma. Being shot and the shock to my body. It made me miscarry."

"Are you okay?" he asks. "Should we not have—"

"I'm fine," I assure him. "It was very early on and I didn't even know I'd had a miscarriage until after my surgery. I just want you to know that I was going to tell you. I wasn't going to make a decision without you."

Derek wraps his arm around my back and runs his hand up and down. "Do you know what you wanted to do?"

I shake my head. "I hadn't decided anything yet. But, if I'm being honest, we weren't together then and I'm not ready to have children. So…" I don't say anymore.

"I understand. And I would've supported any decision you would've made."

It feels good to have him on my side again. I run my hand up and along his arm and over his shoulder. "I want kids," I tell him. "Not today, but I think I want kids. Or _a_ kid. Maybe a second one if the first one doesn't kill us." I pause for a second and then say, "But if you don't want kids—"

"I do," he says quickly. "I definitely, _definitely_ do. One would be fine. We don't need more than one."

"So we're on the same page."

"We are," he agrees. He leans forward and kisses me briefly. "I'm sorry about the miscarriage. I'm sorry you had to go through that alone."

"I wasn't alone. You were there. You just didn't know the full extent. But you were there."

Derek leans back, lying on his back, and I slide over to rest my cheek on his chest. I'm officially tired. My energy level has been low since being shot, but it's getting better. However, it's been an emotional hour, or however long Derek has been here.

I'd be lying if I thought we couldn't work this out. I knew we could, but we just needed to lay everything out on the table. I've never been anyone who believes a person is "meant" for them, but if that kind of wizardry does exist, I believe it exists for Derek and me. We both are so different in so many ways, but we're similar. We're both workaholics and we both have high-pressure jobs. Neither of us is good about talking through our struggles or concerns. We're going to need to get better about that and I think we will. It'll take time, but it'll happen.

But I think our differences are what draw us together and will make us even partners in this relationship.

* * *

 **AN: I have to say, when I originally decided to stick closely to Shonda's story line regarding Meredith's pregnancy, I wasn't pregnant myself. However, now being pregnant, it wasn't the easiest to write, however I do find it to be important for Meredith and Derek. Rationally, they couldn't and shouldn't have a baby right now. They're just finding their footing again and I wouldn't want either of them to get back together because of obligation. They needed to find each other again because they _needed_ one another. Also, they've opened up the kid conversation, which is a big thing for both of them, proving they're going to be better communicators. **

**For those who begged me for Meredith not to lose her baby, I'm sorry. But for the story, it made sense and will bring them even closer together.**


	39. Each Other

**AN: I don't have a whole lot to say except thank you. I love hearing from you and I know many of you are sad this story is ending, but I hope I do this story justice with the ending. This part is the true ending and the next will be an epilogue. I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

 **DEREK**

"Good morning, ladies and gentleman," I greet as I enter the room. As always, everyone is standing at the ready. "Please, take a seat."

My meeting today is attended by my cabinet, my Chief of Staff, and my publicity team. I called in the meeting very early this morning with Sophie, my secretary, and while it was last minute, everyone seems invested already. I stay standing at the head of the table and look around the room. "Thank you all for being here this morning. I know this meeting was put together last minute, so I appreciate your attendance.

"Today is going to be a very different meeting than we'd usually have because this meeting is about my personal life." With that, everyone looks a little uncomfortable. It's not the job of the cabinet to take on the President's personal life. "I know many of you in this room have little dealings in my personal life and I understand this conversation may feel uncomfortable, but I wanted to get everyone in the room so we all had an understanding."

I take a seat. "As you all know, Meredith and I broke up a few weeks back for various reasons and I've been a nightmare to be around ever since."

No one responds. I expected a laugh, or something, even though it's the truth. "Everyone relax," I tell them. "I'm not here to make your life harder."

Some of my cabinet relaxes, those I see every day, but the rest remain tense. I continue, "When Meredith got shot, I found myself back in her life again and since returning from my trip to South America, we've reconnected and we're back together."

I notice Toby smiling to himself as he stands along the wall on the other side of the room. He's always been a champion for mine and Meredith's relationship. At first no one says anything, but then Lilly pipes up and says, "Congratulations sir." A few people nod.

"Thank you," I nod at her graciously. This room is full of people who make decisions on when bombs should be dropped and countries should be invaded, but heaven forbid I mention my person life and they're all petrified. I decide to stop worrying about my cabinet's state of mind and just get to the point.

"Meredith and I are together again," I repeat, "but we've been clearer with each other in what we want and need in our relationship, which is where you all come in. The first order of business is Meredith will _not_ be the First Lady."

I let the news settle and everyone seems very alert. Before I hear complaints, I continue.

"A few months ago, I was under the impression that Meredith had no other choice. If we wanted a First Lady, she would have to fulfill the role. But I don't believe that any longer."

"But sir," Alan chimes in, "if not for Doctor Grey, who is going to do the job?"

"For a year now, a very capable team has been tending to the duties of the First Lady. Wendy and her team have put together every event, set up dinners for causes that have been important to me, and worked closely with local charities to make sure their voices are being heard. I have already spoken to Wendy and she said she'd love to take on the role full time. She won't be called the First Lady, of course, but I don't believe this administration needs a single individual to take on that role. I like the idea of showing people working together to get the job done. Now _that_ is more realistic."

For a few moments, everyone is quiet, but their eyes tell a different story. People don't seem so happy. Eventually, my Secretary of the Interior, asks, "Sir, can we really go without a face of the office of the First Lady? Aren't you worried that you'll be too far removed from tradition?"

"Those are fair questions, I know I will be answering them for weeks, but my answer for the first is we can go without a face of the office of the First Lady because we'll have eleven faces for that office, just like there are multiple faces for this very cabinet. As for your second question, the answer is I'm not worried. I believe some traditions should change. Slavery was a tradition and we changed our way of thinking to eradicate the tradition."

"Sir, are you really equating the office of the First Lady to slavery? Isn't that a little insensitive and dramatic," my Secretary of State asks.

I nod. "Maybe it wasn't a good equation, but I don't believe we need to stick to tradition. Our last President was not traditional and the country is the better for it." I'm still not sure everyone is sold. I sigh, "Look, I'm not doing away with the traditional position because I want to shake things up. Meredith is a doctor and a damn fine one at that. She's saved thousands of lives, including my own, and her talents would be wasted if she had to sit behind a desk all day. I would be doing our community a disservice by making her spend her time party planning when she can be saving lives. And that's not to say that the First Lady doesn't change lives just by reaching out to people, but Meredith literally has her hands in wounds saving the people and I don't want to take that time away from her."

Again, the room is mostly silent. Everyone is processing. I know it's a change, but not so much for this administration. I've never had a First Lady and my first year was fine. Why do I need one now?

While everyone is thinking, I continue to my next point. "The other part I want to talk to all about is our media and their special attention to Meredith."

"Are you going to get rid of the media, too?" Alan asks. The room is so silent I could hear a pin drop. When no one laughs at Alan's ill-timed joke, he quickly says, "I meant it as a joke."

Everyone is watching me for my next move. I remain calm. "Well, it was a bad joke."

A few people laugh under their breath.

"I will _not_ be getting rid of our media. Our media has every right in the world to run whatever story they want. But allow me to quote John F. Kennedy, who said it remarkably well, 'But I am asking the members of the newspaper profession and the industry in their country to reexamine their own responsibilities, to consider the degree and nature of the present danger, and to heed the duty of self-restraint which that danger imposes upon us all.'" For a second I forget the rest and I'm just standing there thinking.

In the next moment, I hear someone begin to say, "'Every newspaper now asks itself, with respect to every story: "Is it news?" All I suggest is that you add the question: "Is it in the interest of the national security?" And I hope that every group in America—unions and businessmen and public officials at every level—will ask the same question of their endeavors, and subject their actions to the same exacting test,'" Grant says.

I give him a smile. I turn back to my cabinet. "The media's duty is to provide worthy news and that's something we're lacking here. So many individuals are incredible journalists, but it seems like sensationalism has run rampant. I know I can't stop this sort of news; nor would I want to. The people of this country deserve the news they want and if ratings are high, give the people what they want. But the object here is for us to no longer remain silent when lies are being published. I'm not going to take to the podium every time Meredith is thrown under the bus, but I sure as hell won't stand by and let them drag her for ratings. I refuse to fill their pockets with this sort of 'news.'"

"I agree, sir," my Secretary of Education says.

"Me, too," another chimes in.

"We need to not just sit on our thumbs. You're the voice of the nation, after all."

I feel vindicated. I expected a lot of backlash.

Of course, not everyone is on my side. "Sir, I know you're happy to back together with Doctor Grey, and I fully support the relationship," Alan says, "but I think you're allowing your emotions to skew your judgment. You seem more interested in making sure Doctor Grey is happy than what the country needs."

I stand up because this feels like a moment for me. "You're wrong," I tell Alan. "For a year now I've tried to do what is exactly right in this White House. I've tried to follow closely in my predecessor's footsteps and follow the book, but that's not what this country needs. This country needs a leader who is ready to stand up for what he believes in, starting with those he cares most about. Of course I want Meredith to be happy, but I also want to make sure I'm happy and I'll never be happy when I let someone else make a decision for me, which is exactly what happened the day you told me I had to make Meredith my First Lady, Alan. I allowed you to take the reins and in this house, I'm the President and I make the decisions."

A few people look over at Alan and just by the looks on their faces, I know they're also not his biggest fans. "I feel this incredible love for my country. A love that put me in this chair," I motion to the seat at the head of the table. "I want to be a good head of state and a worthy President. I believe I'm doing the best job I can right now when it comes to my work. And while I have a love of country and a duty to my job, I also have an impossible love for a woman whom I've known for only a year and a half and if her role in my life helps me to shake up the presidency and pave the way of change for future presidents, than I fully welcome her presence in my life and her ability to make me change."

I look out across the group and I notice a few people seem a little choked up. When I look over at Toby, he's wiping tears from his eyes. I look down at the table for a second and compose myself. My heart is racing in my chest. "I appreciate all of you because I know I've made your lives difficult with my personal life. I'm hoping these changes will make everything a bit more stable for all of you, but of course I'm happy to hear any feedback you may have. This room is a democracy, so I welcome comments and concerns." I take my seat.

No one says anything and the room is silent. I become worried about the silence until Lilly asks, "So when is the wedding?"

I feel myself turning red. "Well, about that…" I begin.

 **MEREDITH**

I wake up with Derek at my side. It feels like a dream to have him beside me. I never expected him to stay all day yesterday and then all night with me, but he said he couldn't face another night without me. He counted the nights and we've spent thirty-nine nights apart. We both decided we're never allowed to do that again.

As I wake myself up, I roll closer to Derek and realize he's awake as he wraps his arm around my waist.

"You should be sleeping," he whispers into my ear.

I press my cheek to his chest and keep my eye closed. "I was going to say the same thing to you."

Derek's hands run through my hair and down my back. He kisses my shoulder.

"Do you have to go?" I ask.

"Not yet. My family is flying in today, so I'll mostly be babysitting them all day."

"Why is your family flying in?"

He's quiet for a long pause. I pull back and look up at him. His eyes are open and he's looking down at me. He forces a smile. "We were supposed to be married this weekend. They're flying in for emotional support."

"Your family is kind of incredible."

"They are," he agrees. "Although, they don't have to be here now. I have you again."

"But we're still not getting married this weekend."

Derek nods and looks away, looks far away. For a minute I feel like he's on a whole other planet. He gets this look in his eye when he's thinking sometimes and it feels like he's not even here with me. He has the same look right now. I kiss his jaw, trying to bring him back to me.

When Derek focuses again, he asks, "You said your mom has been good lately, right?"

I nod. "Yeah. She's been herself. Why?"

"Do you know if Alex and Cristina are working today?"

"I'm sure they are. They're workaholics like me. Why?"

Derek sits up quickly, basically spilling me back onto the mattress. He looks excited. He leans over me, his face hovering less than a foot from mine. His eyes are wild. "My family's in town. Your mom is your mom. And your friends are working, but I'm assuming if you really needed them, they could take off, right?"

I sit up and Derek readjusts so we're both sitting up in bed facing each other. "Derek, what is going on?"

He takes my hands in his. "What if we got married today?"

"What?"

"We're supposed to get married on Saturday anyway."

"Until we called off the wedding," I remind him.

Derek nods. "Yes, but what if we went to city hall and got married today."

"Are you kidding me?"

"No. I'm not."

I pull my hands away and clasp them together, rubbing my fingers together in a nervous sort of way. It's a tick of mine. Something my mother does, too. "We can't get married today," I tell him.

Derek grins at me. "Why not? You have the day off. I'm supposed to be spending the day picking family members up from the airport and spending time with them. Your mom is okay and Richard and Alex and Cristina are around. We can go to city hall and get married in just minutes. I'm the President; I can skip the line," he says with a proud grin.

"But Derek," I say, "we just got back together. Isn't it kind of sudden?"

"Our whole relationship has been sudden," he says nonchalantly. "I never thought I'd fall in love with anyone and just a year later know I'd want to marry them. I know it's a risk, but it's a risk I'm willing to take because I'm betting on us."

I feel a lump in my throat. "You are?"

He cups my cheek and I lean into his touch. "I've been betting on us since the moment I woke up after surgery."

 **DEREK**

Meredith and I wait on the tarmac for my mother's plane. My sisters are all waiting back at the White House and my mother is the last to arrive. My sisters already saw Meredith and I are back together and their reactions were as excited as I was hoping for, but they know nothing about the secret wedding. We wanted to tell our parents first.

On our way to the airport, we stopped by Ellis and Richard's house. I knew Meredith was holding her breath the whole time, hoping her mom was still coherent. Richard answered the door and the look on his face told us everything we needed to know. He was grinning from ear-to-ear. "Derek, good to see you again," he said and we shook hands.

Richard smiled at Meredith. "Ellis was asking about you this morning. She was asking about both of you."

"Well, we kind of have some big news and wanted to talk to you both."

"I'm intrigued," Richard said and held the door open, "come on in."

Once inside, we didn't wait long to tell them. Ellis was sitting in the living room looking through some old journals and Richard joined us, sitting by her side. Ellis was beaming at us. "So you're back together," she said.

I nodded and Meredith said, "Yes." She took my hand. "And we have something to tell you."

The color drains from Ellis's face. "You got married." She looks unhappy. She follows up with, "You got married without us?"

Meredith just smiled. "No, Mom. We haven't gotten married. Yet. We actually wanted to see what you're doing today."

 **MEREDITH**

Derek looks nervous standing next to me. I don't know why because my parents' reaction was perfect. As soon as my mom realized we didn't get married without her presence, she jumped from the couch and hugged us both. Richard just beamed at us, looking a little extra emotional. We told them we had to go pick up Carolyn, but to be ready in two hours. I'm praying that my mom is okay for the rest of the day, but even if she leaves us, I know that she's happy for us both.

Carolyn's flight lands and Derek and I stay back. It's a small flight with only a few passengers, but we want to remain inconspicuous. As the other travelers head inside, Carolyn is directed by Toby towards us and the waiting car. As she spots us, Carolyn grins wide, probably happy to see me at Derek's side. Of course that's confirmed when she makes her way to hug me first.

"I'm so glad you're okay," she says and holds me tightly. I hug her back just as tight. "When I heard about the shooting, I was in a panic." She pulls back to look at me. "How are you feeling? Are you doing okay? Did you have a good doctor take care of you?"

"I did and I'm fine. I'm doing a lot better and I'll be back to work soon."

Carolyn hugs me again. "I've missed you," she says softly to me.

"I've missed you, too."

"So I don't get any hugs now?" Derek asks. He looks annoyed, but I know he's not.

Carolyn turns to him and hugs him. "You're old news," she tells him and winks at me. As she pulls away she says, "Not that I'm not happy to see you Meredith, but I didn't expect you today. I'm guessing that you being here means…you're back together?" She gives both Derek and I a hopeful look.

"We are," I confirm.

She claps her hands together. "Oh, I'm so—"

"We actually have some bigger news to tell you," Derek says, glances at me and smiles, and turns back to his mom.

 **DEREK**

I call ahead to city hall while we drive from the airport and I get us a slot with the promise of no press and no one around except necessary personnel. I want it to just be us and hopefully the city hall workers hold up their end of the bargain, but I decide I don't care either way because in about an hour, Meredith is going to be my wife.

We drop Meredith off with her parents. She's on the phone with Cristina when I kiss her goodbye and she gives me a thumbs up, probably meaning Cristina can make it. My mom and I drive back to the White House and I have the task of telling my sisters. For about a minute, they all scream so loudly I believe the Richter scale picked up on seismic activity in the area. After the screaming they all go into tangents about having nothing to wear, which I mostly let my mom deal with. I tell them it doesn't matter what they wear because none of that matters. None of my sisters seem particularly happy with that answer.

I don't change at all, leaving on the same grey suit I put on this morning. I tell my family they have fifteen minutes before we all need to be on the road to city hall. As we wait for my siblings, my mom and I stand near the elevators. She reaches out to take my hand. "You're happy," she says.

"I am."

"Meredith makes you happy."

I nod. "She does."

"I see big things on the horizon for both of you."

I hug my mom. "Thank you, Mom."

"I can't believe I'm about to have another daughter," she says with a big smile.

"A less annoying one," I point out as I pull away.

I expect to be reprimanded, but instead my mom says, "You're right about that."

We share a smile.

 **MEREDITH**

I decide to dress just in a suit. It's black and feminine and I feel pretty in it. Derek said he didn't care and it doesn't really matter. We both know we'll probably do the big wedding party later on this summer. In fact, we're planning on it. This wedding is just for us and our family.

Speaking of family, as I wait downstairs for my mom and Richard, I walk along the fireplace mantel and wall and look at the lives in pictures my mom has hanging everywhere. She doesn't shy from her past with my father or my father's new family. She definitely proudly shows the early years of her and Richard with pictures of the three of us swimming one summer at Virginia Beach and Richard showing me how to pet a llama at a petting zoo. Year after year of pictures lines the walls and I relive the memories. I'm sure my mom does the same thing every day, holding onto whatever memories she can.

I hear footsteps coming downstairs and watch my mom descend the stairs in a pretty black dress. It's simple and she looks nice. "I hope black is okay." She looks me over. "I guess it is."

"Derek and I aren't traditional."

"No, you're not. Just like Richard and I were never traditional." I look at their wedding photo. Richard in a button-up and my mom in pants. They also got married at city hall. My mom places her arm around my shoulders. I look over at her. "I'm glad I'm here for you today."

"I am too," I tell her.

"I know I won't be around much longer," she says in a somber tone. I don't deny it. "But I'm here for you today and I know you're happy and that's what matters."

"Not surgery?" I ask her. I don't know why I say it, but I do.

Ellis doesn't look at me. "Surgery has always been my life, but I've realized now, since I can't operate or have any part in medicine, that you and Richard are much more important than surgery." She looks over at me. "Richard tells me about all the days you come even when I can't remember you. He says you read to me and tell me stories. No inflamed appendix will ever be able to do that."

I laugh a little. "If it did, we could take our show on the road."

My mom smiles at me. "You're what's important. I might not have always shown you that, but you've always been the most important."

"Thanks, Mom." My throat feels tight.

I hear Richard walking down the stairs. "Well," my mom says and takes a deep breath to gain her composure. "Shall we get going?"

 **DEREK**

Meredith arrives just as I do. She looks beautiful and relaxed. Much more relaxed than I feel. I'm really nervous and I don't know why.

We've parked in an underground entrance and the whole group takes the service elevator to the third floor. Meredith and I stand in the back of the elevator and I hold her hand. All around us people are buzzing, but I'm mostly focused on Meredith beside me. I squeeze her hand at one point and she squeezes back. We share a look.

Before we walk into the marriage license office, Grant checks out the floor and gives us the all clear. The sea of people part and Meredith and I walk into the office first. Of course everyone knew we were coming, so it's no surprise when nearly every person in the office is standing by the big, long desk in the front with smiles on their faces.

"Hello Mr. President, Doctor Grey," a woman behind the counter greets us.

I hold out my hand. "Today I'm just Derek." I read her name tag. "Thank you for squeezing us in, Dorothy and for giving us privacy. We appreciate it."

"Of course," she says with a blush. "We have the office clear for about a half hour, so we should get started. The judge is ready as soon as you fill out some paperwork." She slides two clip boards towards us. "And I'll just need your IDs."

While Meredith and I fill out our paperwork, Lizzie takes about a million pictures of us. One with my pen on paper, one with the pen hovering before I write. One of Meredith peeking at my sheet and another of Meredith explaining a field on the form to me. They're all very exciting. I don't roll my eyes at all in any of the pictures. Not once. When we're done, Dorothy looks everything over and leads us to the judge's quarters. Our family and friends follow behind like little ducks. We stand before the judge's door.

"Nervous?" I ask her.

She looks up at me. "Not at all."

 **MEREDITH**

I'm not nervous. I'm petrified.

Carolyn says something to Derek while we wait and Derek turns to her. This gives me a minute to turn to Cristina, who is standing right behind me. Of course Alex leans in as I say, "I'm going to throw up."

"No you're not," Cristina says.

"She might. She looks green."

Amelia must overhear because she leans in and says, "It's more of a grey than a green."

Alex begins laughing. "Meredith Grey. _Grey_. Get it?"

Cristina rolls her eyes. "We get it, you idiot." She turns to me and in a very un-Cristina sort of way, she says, "You don't look green or grey. You look fine. And it's okay to be nervous. Derek is sweating bullets over there."

I look at Derek and he does seem a bit nervous.

"Being nervous is good," Cristina says. "I was nervous before I married Owen."

"Yeah, because you two are the picture of a stable relationship."

"Yeah, because stability is all anyone wants. Shut it, Evil Spawn," she whispers to Alex. "The point is, it's okay to be nervous. Just don't pull a runaway bride stunt."

"I won't."

"Good."

I turn to Cristina. "You're a good Maid of Honor."

Cristina gives me a rare, genuine smile. "That's what I'm here for."

The door begins to open and I walk inside hand-in-hand with Derek.

 **DEREK**

We stand in front of the judge while he reads everything over. Everyone is especially quiet because this judge means business. He didn't fawn over us like the office officials. He reads our paperwork and then puts down both the forms. He signs on the line. When he rights himself, he begins, "Meredith Grey, do you take Derek Shepherd as your lawfully wedded husband?"

"Oh, we're starting now?" Meredith asks.

The judge nods.

"Well, yeah. Yes. I do." She looks at me. I give her a smile.

"Derek Shepherd, do you take Meredith Grey as your lawfully wedded wife?"

"I do."

Meredith gives me a small smile.

The judge turns the paperwork towards us. "You both need to sign."

I sign one while Meredith signs the other and we switch.

The judge signs again. He then says, "By the power vested in me by the District of Columbia, I now pronounce you married. If you have rings—"

"We don't," Meredith says.

The judge nods. "You may kiss."

There's nothing romantic on paper about our wedding. There's no soft music playing or big white dresses. There are no rose pedals or champagne or a first dance as husband and wife. We signed our names on a bunch of papers and said 'I do.' Most people would think of our wedding as very unromantic.

But as I lean in to kiss my bride, I'm reminded of the dozens of romantic moments leading up to this moment. The first time we kissed in the Oval Office. The trip to Camp David. The first time she spent the night at the White House. All the quiet moments we've shared when no one was looking. It's these moments that make our wedding so romantic. Because we didn't need the candles and flowers and violins to get us to this moment. We just needed each other.


	40. Won

Derek walks into the room, pinning his American flag pin to his lapel, just as I get off the phone. He gives me a look. "It's early for a phone call. Was that the hospital?"

"No." It's a big day and I know he's already stressed. I don't want to add to his stress, but his big day is about to get a lot bigger. "That was Wendy." Derek stops and stares at me. "She said they'd make a decision today."

"Today?" he asks and I can tell he's frantic at the thought.

I nod and stand up. "I know it's a bad day for it—"

"No. No. It'll be fine."

"Derek."

He sighs. "Fine, it's kind of a bad day, but we've been waiting for weeks. Might as well get all the big stuff done today, right?"

I walk over to him and wrap my arms around his waist. He's tense, but he instantly relaxes and wraps his arms around me. I look up at him. "We've done everything we can for the election and for Zola. If you lose today, you did your best. And for Zola, if they don't sign off on her becoming ours, they're crazy. We're her parents whether we passed their test or not."

Derek runs his hand up and down my back. "They're going to sign the papers. She's going to be ours."

"And you're going to get another four years."

Derek leans down to kiss me. With all the chaos in my mind and all around us, I kind of want to throw up, or hide in bed all day, or just drink and drink. But today is not the day for that. Today is the election for Derek's second term and we might officially become Zola's parents. We've had her for months now, but the process has been long to qualify to be her parents. Hopefully the months of care and the fact that she's absolutely bonded to us will make the decision easy for the judge.

As for Derek's campaign, he's been focused and driven during this election season. The other guy is not a politician and is not qualified and I hope the American people see that. Derek's approval rating has been great the last few weeks, so I have complete faith that he'll earn a second term.

When we started to talk about his next four years not long as we married, the conversation felt difficult. I've always tried to be supportive of Derek, but I've also wanted my privacy. Another four years would mean another four years of media coverage and being in the spotlight. It hasn't always been easy, especially with trying to create a family together, but it's been better than I'd initially thought.

At the end of the day, Derek and I are a team. He needed me to step up and after a lot of consideration, I decided four more years is a small amount of time to give for him to create the legacy he's worked so hard on. It's like when Derek wanted me to switch my hours down to twenty-five a week so I could be the First Lady, but then realized I'm better suited for doing the job I worked tirelessly for. Plus, I met Zola at work and Derek fell in love with her when he visited me one day. That might not have happened if I had cut down my hours.

Either way, I decided I didn't want to take those next four years away from my husband. We'll make four more years work and really, at the end of the day, I sort of love living in the White House and don't really want to go anywhere else. I'm allowed to be a little selfish.

Beside the bed, the baby monitor comes to life with Zola's cries. I then hear her babbling to herself. Any day now I think she might start talking, so I listen intently, but she starts crying again. Derek drops his arms. "I'll get her," he says and walks into the adjacent room.

For the moment he's gone, I slip into my shoes and look myself over in the mirror. Normally I'd just be in jeans and a t-shirt off to work, but the voting polls are open and Derek and I are expected by 9am for him to vote.

Derek walks back into the room with Zola in his arms.

"Hi Zo Zo," I say with a big smile and walk over to them.

Sometimes I can't help but be amazed by all the progress Zola has accomplished in just a few months. She's had multiple surgeries with long recovery periods and even on her worst days, she's managed a smile. The best life for Zola would be with us. I'm a doctor and with Zola's needs, it's best for her to be well-monitored. Derek is the President and with this adoption, he's shed new light on adoption in America and abroad, which, while it wasn't the intent, really helped his approval rating. We don't want Zola for an approval rating, but it has been a nice bonus and it's especially been nice to see so many children being adopted because Derek and I have brought the topic in the forefront.

Zola reaches out to me and Derek hands her off. "We need to get going," he reminds me.

"Okay," I say in a baby voice, because I'm looking and smiling at Zola when I say it. "Are you ready to go vote?" I ask her. "You're the cutest voter in the world."

Derek is looking at me and gives me a smile. "Everything's going to be fine."

I kiss Zola's forehead and then say, "It will be."

\\\\\

We're in Maine for Derek to vote. I voted early in DC, but Derek will be voting in his home state. We had to get special approval to take Zola out of DC, but our social worker understood it was an extenuating circumstance. And as she so eloquently put it, "You're both the face of America. You can't go running with her without someone noticing."

Downstairs, Derek's family is waiting for him. Carolyn will be voting beside her son, while the rest of the Shepherds and their significant others have already voted in their home states. We're mostly all here for support. After we vote, we'll fly back to DC and await the results. We'll also await the results on whether or not Zola will be ours.

While the family convenes on Derek, I notice the news is on the big TV. I walk over with Zola still on my hip. I expect them to be discussing the election, but I actually hear my own name.

"Doctor Grey has made waves in the White House since she first met the President after he was shot during his inauguration. As we all know, the shooter, one of the President's Secret Service men, is now serving a life sentence without the possibility for parole on Rikers Island. Very early on in the presidency, Doctor Grey was a familiar face in the White House and during her time has been controversial with her refusal to take on the job of First Lady and her choice to remain working eighty or more hours a week.

"But through these controversies, it seems like Meredith Grey has become one of the most beloved First Ladies by name, even without the title. Doctor Grey has been working with Huntington's disease patients, and more specifically, a young girl named Allison who has been in a clinical trial for the past nearly three years with tremendous results. Doctor Grey has also tackled saving the lives of fifteen people after a plane crash in the woods to the west, she saved an infant and a family of four during a car accident in a rain storm, and she saved one of her own co-workers when the power went out in the hospital and Doctor Grey had to deliver April Kepner's baby, even without having had OBGYN training since her residency.

"The reason I'm highlighting Doctor Grey's accomplishments on a busy day like an election day is because I think people used to demonize her early on. The media called her distracting and arrogant and selfish. But I think Doctor Grey has more than proved herself in the last four years. She never asked for this life, but she's stepped up to the plate and stood by her husband's side, even with him choosing another four years. I think the real hero here is Meredith Grey and anyone who says anything else must not have been paying attention these last few years."

I feel someone beside me and I look over at Carolyn. She has the same look on her face that I must be wearing. I think she's seen the whole segment. She gives me a smile. "I'm glad to hear the media's finally seen what I've been saying since day one."

"Day one?" I ask her. "I was the pushy doctor who wouldn't let you stay with your wounded son."

Carolyn reaches out and strokes Zola's face. Immediately Zola is giggling. "No," Carolyn says. "You saved my son's life. Even if Derek wasn't in love with you that day, I was."

I smile and reach out to hug her. "Thank you."

"What are my best girls doing?" Derek asks, interrupting the moment.

I pull away. "Talking about you."

Derek reaches out to take Zola. "I need to get going."

" _We_ need to get going," Carolyn corrects him. She turns to the rest of the family, "Alright everyone. Let's go!"

\\\\\

The media presence is crazy at the local polling place. People are lined up all over to catch a glimpse of Derek. Before we exit the car, I reach over and fix his pin and take Zola from him. "You'll probably need to shake hands with a million people," I remind him.

"True."

"Are you nervous?"

"Yes."

"Me too."

Derek takes my hand and squeezes. He then leans in and kisses me. "For good luck," he says.

"Good luck," I say.

We exit the car to a million flash bulbs. I hold Zola close in my arms as Derek walks ahead waving and greeting the crowd. From the beginning I've been worried about how Zola would react to the crowds and all the screaming, but she doesn't seem to mind. Some days, like today, she even seems to enjoy it while she smiles and waves at people.

Once inside, Derek has a few photos taken before slipping into his poll booth. Carolyn also votes while I wait with the rest of Derek's family. Amelia is holding Zola, cooing at her, while Kate and Nancy are bickering about something. Lizzie stands next to me watching the poll booth.

"Be honest," she says to me. "Do you really want him to get four more years?"

I look over at her surprised.

Lizzie raises her eyebrow. "Are you really so surprised I asked what everyone is thinking?"

"No," I admit. "If anyone would ask, it'd be you."

"So what's your answer?"

I don't give my answer any thought because I know the answer without having to think. "He deserves four more years. He has a lot of work to do and it would be a disservice to the people if the line ended today."

"But as his wife-"

"As his wife, he deserves four more years and four years is a small sacrifice."

"You're a martry," she says.

I shake my head and give Derek a smile as he leave the poll booth. "No. I'm in love with him and you make allowances for the people you love." Lizzie gives me a nod of understanding. "Plus, I like that someone cooks for me because I'm hopeless in the kitchen and I'm actually getting used to borrowing fancy, ridiculous dresses."

"Touche," Lizzie says.

\\\\\

Within the next twenty minutes, we're in a plane back to DC. Carolyn comes with us while the rest of the family stays in Maine. Either way, we'll be back this weekend to visit and decompress after a long, busy compaign season. While on Air Force One, Carolyn holds Zola close and Derek and I take a break in the back bedroom of the plane. I desperately want to nap, but as soon as we touch down, it'll be back to work through the rest of the night.

Derek sits on the edge of the bed. I hold onto the edge of the doorframe as I slip out of my shoes. When I look over, Derek is staring at me.

"What?" I ask.

"Come here," he says.

I walk over to him and Derek pulls me down to sit sideways in his lap. I wrap my arms around his neck and Derek's arms wrap around my waist. "I'm worried," he says.

"I know, but you've done all you can. The other guy has nothing on you. You'll win."

"No. I'm worried about Zola. What if we lose her?"

I'm not used to hearing Derek worrying outloud. He usually holds it all close to the vest. "We won't," I say, channeling what he would say to me. "We deserve good things after all we've gone through and she's a good thing."

He smiles. "She is. But aren't you worried?"

"Of course, but we can't both be worried. One of us has to feign certaintly and if you can't do that right now, then I will."

"You're amazing."

"So I've been told."

"You know," he begins, "getting shot was never in the plan. For either of us," he looks up at me. "But if I hadn't been shot, we never would've met and if you hadn't been shot, maybe we never would've figured this all out."

I shake my head. "We wouldn't have been apart long."

"Really?" he asks.

"Richard and I had a conversation when you and I were apart and he'd basically convinced me to go back to you. I've never told him that. I should. He's always been such a romantic."

"We should visit him once everything calms down. We could go with him to visit your mom's grave."

I run my fingers across Derek's flag pin. It's been almost a year, but the loss of my mom still rocks me every day. In the end, we knew she wouldn't be long on this world. She couldn't remember anything and she was living in a home, much to Richard's dismay. But he couldn't keep her safe and it was the best decision. The end was difficult and the loss is impossible, but the relief feels worse. I'm not relieved for myself, but for my mom. She was always the most brilliant person in the world and I know losing that meant she lost everything she had.

Despite the pain of my mom being gone, I am so lucky she lasted so long. She saw Derek and I get married and she knew we were planning for a family. We all took a vacation to Hawaii the summer after Derek and I married. My mom was there for most of the time and I'd never seen her so relaxed or her and Richard in so much love. My mother had an extraordinary life and that's all any of us could've asked for.

"Yeah, let's plan somehing when we're back," I agree with Derek.

For the rest of the plane ride, we sit up front with Carolyn and Zola and we discuss happy things. We're planning Thanksgiving in the White House again and Christmas back in Montana, which we've been doing every year since our engagement. The whole family will join and it's always an incredible week. Zola will be there this year, I just know it, and I can't wait.

Back in DC, we go right to work. Derek pulls his team together later in the day as the media coverage picks up. The White House press is there to document everything. Before the results begin coming in, we put Zola to bed. We still haven't gotten a call from Wendy, which makes me nervous, but I take those nerves and put them into the election results.

Derek stops in the Oval before heading back to the viewing room, so I walk down the hall by myself. As I turn a corner, I see Grant and Toby ahead of me. They both give me a smile.

"Evening gentlemen," I greet.

"Doctor Grey," Grant greets. "Hi Meredith," Toby says.

"Derek in the Oval, if you need him, Tom."

"Great. I'll see you both in there."

Grant heads off. Toby laughs a little and shakes his head. "What?" I ask.

"Ever since he became the President's Chief of Staff, he's insufferable."

"I heard that," Grant calls over his shoulder.

"I meant for you to hear that," Toby yells. As soon as Grant has turned the corner, Toby says, "I've never been happier in my entire life that that oaf, Alan, is gone."

"You and me both," I agree.

Toby and I walk back into the viewing room and I take a seat next to Carolyn.

At 6pm, the first polls close in Indiana and Kentucky, both predicted to go red. Indiana's numbers are always slow, so we don't expect to hear for a few hours. However, neither would mark a win or loss for Derek. It's the swing states we're all very excited for.

At 7pm, the polls close in Florida and Virginia, two big battleground states, followed by Georgia Vermont, and South Carolina. The pollsters make their first predictions. "We're ready to call Kentucky for Republicans, but Vermont and South Carolina will be going blue. That's twelve electorate votes for the current President. We're still keeping an eye on Florida, but so far we believe we'll see a repeat from four years ago with Derek Shepherd taking the state. If he takes Florida and Ohio, his opponent will have no way of winning."

The crowd cheers. Derek leans down for a kiss. He's happy.

Just a half hour later, Ohio, North Carolina, and West Virginia all close. The news focuses heavily on Ohio, as we all do. None of us expect news from the state for hours, but it's one of the most important races to watch.

Another hour passes and more polls close. It's hard to make any predictions, but while everyone is trying to figure out if Derek will win, I wonder if this is how the room felt four years ago for him. He wasn't in the White House then and his team looked way less polished. But I'm sure there was an air of excitement in the group.

I can picture Derek like he is now, maybe a little younger looking. Back then he had no ring on his finger and no flag pin on his chest. He didn't have a bullet wound on his chest. But now and probably then, he had a twinkle in his eye. He was hopeful and excited to take on the job should someone want to give it to him.

It hasn't just been Lizzie asking if I can half another four years. A lot of people have asked. I've asked myself. The thing is, I'm not doing this for him but for us. The reason our relationship works is because we respect each other enough to realize our jobs used to come first and sometimes, still have to come first. Derek knows if there's a big accident, I'm not coming home for a day or more. I know he has to take trips to war torn countries. Our lives are not normal, but as soon as we realized that, I think Derek and I realized that this is forever. And not only just for us, but for Zola.

"With the race in Ohio widening, it looks like we're going to be able to call it for President Shepherd."

The room bursts into cheers.

I jump up to hug Derek.

We're one step closer.

I excuse myself to the bathroom to give Derek and his team time to celebrate and choose to go to the bathroom attached to the Oval. I walk down the hallway, looking at the portraits hanging on the walls and wondering if in just a few months, we might be living normally again. If Derek loses, we already decided we're going to build a house in the woods and try to be normal. We want land for Zola to run around on and a big house for our family to grow larger and larger. With Zola now, I can't stop thinking about having a child. Giving birth to a child. Once we're set with Zola, I think I'll bring it up to Derek.

I use the bathroom and decide to stop in the Oval before going back to the viewing room. I take a seat behind Derek's desk and run my hands along the wood grain. On the desk is a picture taken of us on our wedding day. Next to that is one of Derek, Zola, and me from just a few weeks ago at Camp David. I can't help but smile.

After a few minutes of sitting there, I'm planning to head back when the door opens and Derek walks in. "Hey," he says, surprised to find me here. "I was looking for you."

"I just needed a second. I was about to head back, though."

Derek and I meet in the middle of the Oval Office, right beneath the camera. I look up, wondering if anyone is watching us. "I remember hiding from that camera once or twice," I tell him.

He grins at me. "More like a dozen times. So why did you need a minute? Are you worried about Zola?"

"No. Well, yes, but that's not why I needed a break. It's just been a long six months and I can't believe it's about to all end."

"Well, hopefully not."

"Not your presidency, the campaigning."

"I'll never have to do it again."

I release a deep breath. "That's music to my ears."

"It's going to be good. A second term will be good and then we'll move into our house in the woods. And Zola will play outside without a million people around and maybe she'll have a brother or sister."

"She will."

Derek's smile makes my heart melt. "Good. I can't wait for that day. You know, we could start now on that sibling part." He moves towards me.

I put up my hand and push him back. "Any minute someone will probably walk in here."

"Then tonight."

"At two in the morning when the results are finally called? I'll be sleeping."

"Tomorrow."

"Yes, tomorrow. Maybe."

Derek raises his eyebrows. "Really?"

I shrug. "Zola's a year now. It wouldn't be a bad idea to have kids only a couple of years apart."

"I can see the headlines now: 'A White House Baby.'"

"You have to win first," I remind him.

"Oh, I've already won." He kisses me.

My phone begins to ring and I'm laughing and pulling away as I reach for it from the desk. I'm not really paying attention and then I look at the screen and I go serious. "Derek," I show him the screen where it says Wendy.

"This is it."

"It is."

"Well, pick it up."

And I do.

"Hello?"

"Speaker phone," Derek whispers.

"Hi Meredith. This is Wendy with social services. I know it's a big night, which is why I figured you'd still be awake at this hour. I am sorry if I'm pulling you away from the results."

"It's okay, Wendy. Derek and I were actually taking a moment for ourselves. He's here, too."

"Oh good. It seems like you're doing well, Mr. President." Wendy has never called Derek Mr. President before. I assumed it had to do with the fact that in her world, she's the commander-in-chief.

"I am, thank you." Derek gives me a look. "Do you have news for us?"

"I do.I went before the judge today and a decision was made."

I take a deep breath. "Well?"

After another few dramatic seconds, Wendy says, "She's yours. Zola is officially your daughter."

Derek's eyes prick with tears and I realize _this_ is what he's been stressed about all day. The election has been second fiddle since this morning.

Immediately we're in each other's arms. Derek grips me tightly and I begin to cry.

"Congratualtions," I hear Wendy say.

"Thank you, thank you," Derek says through tears.

"Yes, thank you." My voice breaks.

"It's a good day," she says. "And I think you should know, I voted for you Mr. President."

"I appreciate it. Is there anything else we need to do for Zola?"

"No," she says. "Just love her."

"We will," we both say at once before ending the call with Wendy.

Derek kisses me. "She's ours."

I grip him tightly. "She is."

I don't know if I've ever felt more joy in my life. Maybe the day I married Derek. Or maybe the first day Derek and I decided Zola had to be ours. It seems like for thirty-four years before meeting Derek, the only joy I knew was cutting someone open and saving their life. Saving Derek, back when he was just the President to me, was my greatest joy. But through the years, I've learned that being a surgeon was just one facet.

As my mom got older, she always spoke about surgery as her job, but I remember surgery being her life when I was a kid. I never thought I'd understand her changing her point of view. But with my husband and my daughter, it seems I've learned how to become more than just the job I chose, just like Derek's learned how to be more than just the President. Our jobs are temporary, but our family will always be constant.

"We should go see her."

"She's sleeping and election results are coming in."

"I know, but I need to see her. Don't you?"

I don't think about it before saying, "Yes. Let's go."

Derek takes my hand and opens the door to the Oval Office, which reveals Grant standing on the other side of the door, his fist raised in a knock.

Grant is smiling. "Sir, results are in."

Down the hall is cheers and music blasting. Toby is in the hallway with his wife, hugging and kissing. Carolyn is bounding towards us with a glass of champagne in hand. Derek's won. He looks at me and I look at him. He has four more years to add to his legacy, something that's always been important. I'll be by his side and so will Zola. His family will be there for him.

Grant says, "Derek, you won."

* * *

 **AN: I could cry from all the support you've all shown me from day one. In fact, I have cried about it before. I've been writing Grey's stories since 2006 and never have I received so much wonderful feedback and love from the community. Every single one of you who took time to comment have melted my heart and I've read all of your comments dozens of times. It's through your support that I finished this story in just one year. It was a crazy year for me and for many people and I'm just so proud to have finished and kept the integrity of this story throughout.**

 **I've always loved writing AU. It's where I find my creativity to those who comment and tell me they never read AU, but chose mine, I really appreciate you taking the time to read. I will always write AU predominately and I'm just glad this crazy story I wanted to tell has finally been told.**

 **Thank you to anyone who has read in the last year. Thank you to those who stuck with me from chapter one or who has just found this three years after finishing up. I appreciate every single one of you.**

 **I hope you like this ending and I can't wait to hear your thoughts. Please know I will be writing something completely new and will post when I can. My baby will be here in just two months, so no promise on any time frame. I will be back in 2017, that's for sure.**

 **Finally, to any of my fellow Americans or any of my brothers or sisters who live in other countries who are afraid or worried or uneasy with our new administration here in the United States, please know I can be a shelter to you from anyone who might not believe in your rights or your way of life. You are safe here and I love you all.**

 **Goodbye for now and good luck.**

 **-Abigail**


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